Sufficient for the Day
by Tereza
Summary: A growing shadow, a forest held hostage, a people in despair, an approaching war... Welcome to Mirkwood. Before the actual War of the Ring, a festering evil invaded a once great elven realm to be held off only by the waning strength of the wood elves.
1. Plunk!

A/N OK here goes, my attempt at fanfic. Short summary – this takes place before Aragorn goes searching for Gollum, soon after he first meets Gandalf.  Gandalf takes Aragorn to Mirkwood to see how the wood elves are faring against the growing shadow and to introduce him to elves outside of Imladris. Gandalf is also beginning to sense the inevitability of a fight for Middle Earth and those whose shoulders the fate of the world will one day rest upon.  This will basically be a When Aragorn Met Legolas story, with Thranduil, Gandalf, and maybe later on Elrond & his kids (though that wouldn't be until much later). No Mary Sues, no slash, and I'll try to keep it none AU, though I can't promise anything. Reviews are welcome. 

Disclaimer: Right then… I'm not Tolkien. They're not mine. 

**Sufficient for the Day**

_"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." *_

**Chapter 1 Plunk!**

*plunk*   
  
"hmph…"   
  
*plunk*   
  
"hmph…"   
  
*plunk*  
  
"Confound it! By the Valar….. never will I understand a wood elf's absurd humor…"   
  
Aragorn glanced furtively at the irate wizard beside him, as yet another acorn miraculously landed directly on the Istari's head, as if a bull's eye had been drawn onto the unlucky man's pointed hat.   
  
*Plunk*   
  
"Are you sure it is an elf? I see none, nor do I hear or by any other means sense the presence of another being near us, besides the spiders that is… Perhaps the trees have just taken offense at your earlier grumblings about misplaced roots…" Aragorn smirked as he uttered this last statement, remembering the wizard's most un-wizard-like trip.  

As Gandalf continued to grumble, the ranger scanned the surrounding forest.  Indeed, there was no sign – not a bent leaf, nor a cracked twig, nor the faintest rustling of branches - to indicate that a "fool of an elf" had been tracking them since their arrival in the great forest of Mirkwood, just a few short hours ago. Aragorn had never journeyed to Mirkwood since he had left Imladris and had gone out into the wild. Soon after he met Gandalf, the wizard insisted that he accompany him on a visit to the woodland King to see for himself the strengthening of the shadow and to meet the Mirkwood elves. Gandalf even suggested the ranger may befriend someone who would be a helpful companion in his travels. Aragorn quickly agreed to this, for he was curious to see Mirkwood after all the dark tales he had heard about it and the prospect of an elven companion was appealing. He had regretted Elladan and Elrohir not being able to join him on his adventures due to their responsibilities in Imladris and he much missed the keen eyes and ears, and not to mention, the lighthearted demeanor of the elves. 

As he studied the gnarled trees in the outermost edges of the forest, Aragorn was surprised at how accurate the dark descriptions of the wood had been. The darkness surrounded the pair of travelers like a thick, odious veil dropped over a once green and thriving forest.  Not even the sun's warm rays could break through the dense canopy of leathery leaves, though scattered pockets of dim light seemed to radiate throughout the byzantine branches.  But the shadow wrapped around every trunk like a noose, suffocating whatever life might be left in it and Aragorn did not doubt he too may choke on the shadow should he depart from the elvish path he and Gandalf followed.  Every now and then he glimpsed a spider skulking through the branches, or his skin would tingle indicating a far more evil presence. 

  
Gandalf interrupted Aragorn's musings with another "hmph" as an acorn once again found its way to his head. 

"You underestimate the wood elves, Estel. If they choose not to be seen in the forest, then not even the most skilled of rangers will be able to track them - particularly a wood elf in his own home. And I assure you, if the trees have "taken offense at my words" as you say, then it is because of the irreverent fool of a wood elf that is currently pestering us and manipulating every oak, birch, beech and elm against us."   
  
"Against _you, you mean – for I have not had any acorns fall on my head," Aragorn corrected, a twinkle in his eye that further irritated the wizard.   
  
*plunk*   
  
"That's it! I have had enough of this impudent behavior!" the wizard bellowed as he stood firmly in the center of the path. He whipped around and glared up into the dark branches hanging over them. Even they seemed to shrink in the wake of the wizard's explosive temper.   
  
This time, a cheerful giggle caught Aragorn's attention. He peered up in surprise. Truly, he did not believe any wood elf could possibly be tracking them. Despite the wizard's words, and perhaps because of his own pride and confidence in his skills, Aragorn found it incredulous that he could not sense the presence of one who had been following them for so many hours (and continuously plunking acorns on the wizard's head).   
  
Gandalf too heard the laugh and his eyes darted from tree to tree searching for its source. Aragorn noted the twitching in the wizard's lips. Was that a smile or a muscle spasm resulting from frustration that Gandalf was fighting to control?  
  
"So the almighty wood elf has decided to make his formidable presence known to the humble intruders to his forest, with a most threatening, and yet most noble giggle," the wizard prompted, ducking away from another acorn.   
  
The ranger and wizard stood silently for several minutes, waiting for a response from their pursuer. A light breeze tickled their skin and caused a few leaves to shake. Here and there a shadow crawled by, but its owner was always only a small spider or squirrel, not an elf.  Gandalf sighed – time meant nothing to an immortal elf and he knew they could very well be standing there for many hours, if for no other reason, to amuse the elf's bizarre sense of humor. "Cursed are those who are at the receiving end of an elvish  
prank," the wizard muttered.   
  
"Perhaps he left?" Aragorn suggested, though he barely believed that himself.   
  
"No, no… he's here…" Gandalf responded, more to himself than to Aragorn, as he once again suspiciously skimmed the great oaks and beeches around them. _

"Ah well, no point in just lingering here. We might as well move on. He'll introduce himself when he chooses," the wizard sighed when his search proved fruitless. The two then reluctantly moved on, knowing all too well they were not alone.

  
After several leagues of acorn free hiking Gandalf stopped again and huffed. Aragorn cocked an eyebrow and was about to ask what was plaguing the wizard this time when suddenly the Istari noisily cleared his throat. Again the branches seemed to tremble and draw back in response to the clearly agitated wizard.  
  
"All right Legolas Greenleaf, you have proven yourself as a wood elf, both in your disturbing sense of humor as well as your tracking abilities. Now perhaps you will honor us with a formal greeting," he announced.   
  
Aragorn spun around to try to locate the subject of Gandalf's scolding, but again, his search was futile. He had never met Legolas though he knew he was the woodland King's son. Elladan and Elrohir spoke of him as well, often bringing up fond memories of their adventures, which usually did not seem so fond to Lord Elrond. It surprised the ranger that it was the prince that had been Gandalf's mysterious attacker and he wondered how the wizard knew it was him – and for how long did he know? The sudden appearance of an elf directly in front of him interrupted Aragorn's thoughts. Though the ranger was startled, he hid it well, and stared curiously at the fair elf ahead of him, who returned his stare with equal intensity, not blinking once, as only an elf could do.   
  
"Well, well, well, my prince, so you finally decided to show some respect to an old man," the wizard scoffed though he now smiled warmly.   
  
The elf instantly snapped his head towards Gandalf and feigned a hurt expression. 

"Ai, Mithrandir! Too long has it been since you have graced us with a visit! I do believe the trees were punishing you for not coming sooner! Indeed they grieve your absence as a daffodil mourns the sun on too many cloudy days! I tried to tell them acorns were no way to greet an old man, even if he has neglected them for so long, but alas, the great trees, older than the oldest elf, chose not to listen to me, since I am but a fledgling in their eyes."   
  
Now Gandalf took no pain to hide his amusement and laughed merrily. 

  
"Ah Legolas, do not accuse me of neglect! I regret, too many winters have passed since I have last journeyed to Mirkwood, but never would I neglect the realm of the wood elves."   
  
"Well, it is good indeed you are here Mithrandir, for always do I enjoy your company. Forgive me for not making my presence known sooner, but I thought you deserved some retribution for your prolonged absence," Legolas grinned as he bowed respectfully.   
  
Gandalf once again laughed at the elf as he lifted him from his bow and into an embrace.   
  
"You are forgiven Thranduillion, though do not think I won't have my revenge."   
  
"Then I have much to fear, for a wizard's revenge must be dreadful indeed!" Legolas replied as he returned the wizard's embrace.  
  
Gandalf pulled away, and his amusement faded as he remembered the purpose of his journey. "Indeed. Come now though, I would like to reach your father before sunset."   
  
"I will lead you there then and perhaps you will forget about your revenge." 

Legolas's bright eyes shifted to the ranger. "First though, I believe you have forgotten your manners, Master Wizard. Or perhaps this is just one very lost human…" 

Aragorn smirked at this, and raised his eyebrows expectantly at Gandalf.  
  
"Ah! Forgive me! I'm afraid my memory grows weak with my old age. Aragorn, this is Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil and Legolas, this here is Aragorn son of Arathorn," Gandalf hastily gestured to each of them. Aragorn gave a brief nod and bowed slightly to the elf. 

"Well met Master Elf."   
  
Legolas's eyes widened at the mention of Aragorn's name. "Ah! I know that name, you are Lord Elrond's boy, son of Gilraen, and lord of the Dunadain! Well met indeed! It is an honor, Heir of Isildur," and Legolas gave a deep sincere bow, not noticing Aragorn's cringe at the mention of his title.   
  
"Yes yes, we are all heirs of something here, but now that we know who we all are, perhaps we can get on our way for I much desire to meet with the King," Gandalf impatiently began to march ahead of the elf and ranger.  
  
The elf's face changed from one of merriment to worry at this. 

"You bring ill tidings then?"   
  
The wizard sighed. "I'm afraid these days all tidings I bring are ill young prince." Legolas's frown deepened and the wizard quickly felt the need to reassure the elf. "Do not worry Legolas, these tidings are not so dire and urgent as you may now believe. Truly it is more that I wish to hear what news your father may have for me of the growing threat around us."   
  
"Ah well that I could give you Mithrandir," Legolas began softly. 

Aragorn watched the elf closely as his mood suddenly became solemn. Growing up with elves, he had become accustomed to such sudden changes in mood.  One minute an elf could be merry and mischievous, even rather annoying, as Gandalf just experienced, and in a flash, they could become rather pensive as they traveled through their own saddened thoughts and dreams. Their songs reflected this as well, as they switched from the nonsensical to the bittersweet and sorrowful in a blink of an eye.  

The elf continued, "The darkness grows upon us like a tide, ready to engulf whatever green is left in Mirkwood into its shadow.  Alas… I have killed more spiders in the past month than I have in all the centuries preceding. Yet I fear that for all my efforts… for all _our_ efforts… it only continues to push us back further into a corner. And each day more of my kin sail West." Legolas gripped his bow and eyed the path ahead and beside them as he spoke.  
  
Gandalf listened closely to the elf's sober words and nodded slowly when he was done. The three continued to trudge silently along the shadowy path. Aragorn shuddered as another shiver went down his spine. It seemed the trees themselves – or perhaps creatures within the trees- were watching him with hungry eyes. As he fingered his sword he glanced at the elf walking tensely ahead of them, bow and quiver in hand. Gandalf appeared to be deep in thought, every now and then glancing too at the elf with a look of what Aragorn perceived to be sorrow.   
  
Soon Gandalf dropped behind allowing Legolas to get far ahead of him and Aragorn. Aragorn eyed him questioningly and the wizard sighed.   
  
"He should be hosting merry feasts and midsummer festivals, not hunting spiders." Gandalf whispered so low it was doubtful even Legolas's keen ears could hear. 

Aragorn made no response to this and the wizard continued to stare ahead pensively. It seemed Gandalf was remembering a time long ago, when Mirkwood was Greenwood and the threat of darkness was still aloof, even if it was growing. He could not relate to the nostalgia the wizard felt, for he was born into the dark times they currently dwelled in. He wondered if even the elf could relate to such nostalgia. It was difficult to know an elf's age, but he guessed that this was a younger one and thus also did not know of the happier days Gandalf seemed to remember. 

As if reading his mind, Gandalf continued, "He was very young when Greenwood became Mirkwood." This time Aragorn turned to Gandalf, as the wizard went on, more loudly this time, "A great forest this was indeed, and great it will be again."   
  
Now Legolas turned to Gandalf with a melancholy smile. "She still is a great wood Gandalf, for beneath this shadow lies many millennia of memories. I can feel them even now when the shadow is darkest. Sauron himself could not wipe out such memories."   
  
"You can sense the memories in these trees then?" Aragorn asked, his voice tinged with wonder. 

Legolas merely nodded. He then turned and grinned at the ranger. 

"Yes. I could even feel their most recent memories of strange beings walking through their paths so that I myself could follow them without being seen."   
  
Gandalf snorted. "Well unluckily for you mellonin, wizards too have memories and I have not yet forgotten my own vow for revenge." 

A wave of relief washed over the Istari's face at the elf's carefree laugh, glad to have brought him out of his melancholy mood. Legolas then responded in a blithe, musical voice in elvish,   
  
_"Up from the earth swordsmen, elves as old as the earth, from wells, swordsmen, from rivers, crossbowmen! Rise up, forest, with            your elves, the whole backwoods with your people, old dwarf of the Mountain with your forces, water demon with your terrors, mistress of the water with your spirits, oldest woman of the water with your powers, maidens from every swale, fine ladies from quagmires, to aid a solitary elf, as comrades for a famous elf prince, so that a wizard's arrows will not cut, neither a seer's weapons nor an ill-disposed sorcerer's staff!"**_  
  
Aragorn and Gandalf both chuckled at the elf's song, but stopped abruptly when Legolas halted, his hands tensing around his elvish bow.   
  
"What is it Legolas?" Gandalf queried, straining to see whatever it was that disturbed the elf.   
  
"There are orcs here," Legolas flatly replied, to which Aragorn immediately unsheathed his sword and Gandalf lifted his staff protectively, but Legolas only shook his head and continued.   
  


"They are not near… or not near enough to yet be a threat to us. We should be safe especially as we get closer to my father's realm. But nevertheless, we must be wary."   
  
The other two nodded and they continued on, their mood returning to a silent melancholy. As they neared the elvish realm of Mirkwood, the weakening of the shadow was almost palpable. The tingles down his spine stopped and Aragorn marveled at the increasing color and light shining through the tall trees. It was as if the elves were fighting back the shadow with their own ethereal glow. Gandalf and Legolas visibly began to relax, much to Aragorn's relief, though he once again felt eyes on him.   
  
"Does anyone else feel as if they are being watched?" he asked, suspiciously scanning their surroundings.   
  
"Aye, it is similar to the feeling I had when we first entered Mirkwood," the wizard grumbled, shooting a sharp glance at the elf.   
  
"It is my father's guards," Legolas stated simply. "They have been watching us for some time now, but do not let them bother you. They know it is me and they will not disturb us."   
  
Aragorn nodded and smiled slightly as he looked up into the tall trees around him. Though he could feel them, he could not for his life see or hear any indication that elves were watching them. Though this changed suddenly as a familiar noise recurred causing the ranger's reserved smile to grow into a wide grin.

  
*plunk*   
  
"Ai, for the love of Elbereth!" came a strained groan from the unlucky target of the renegade acorn.   
  
Legolas turned around and laughed at the disgruntled wizard, a bright gleam in his eyes. "You see it is not me but the trees that are creating mischief today!"   
  
Aragorn snickered and shook his head. Wood elves certainly were fascinating beings. Just when he thought Gandalf might actually whack the elf with his staff, they came to an intricately carved wooden bridge, leading over a small, but rapid river. Across the bridge was a great slope covered with beeches, creating a hodgepodge of dancing shadows and light. These shadows however were unlike the dark, fell shadows of the outskirts of Mirkwood. Instead of spiders, Aragorn sensed birds in the trees and he even spotted some flowers growing haphazardly. But unlike Rivendell which bloomed with an optimistic, magical glow, the land here was full of sorrow. This was the corner Legolas spoke of that the shadow continued to push the elves into. It was the last of the green left in Mirkwood and it was fading, as were its inhabitants. 

In the slope was a great wooden gate, carved with elvish symbols, leading into what Aragorn assumed to be a great cavern.

"And so we arrive at the home of the Woodland King," Gandalf smiled at his two companions. 

"Aye, indeed we have. Welcome Master Wizard and Master Dunadan to the house of Thranduil," Legolas beamed as he opened the great gate and led them into a labyrinth of passages, glowing with the torches of elf guards, whose songs echoed against the walls of the cavern. 

TBC…. 

* Matthew 6:34…I hope quoting this isn't too pretentious. I just wanted to clarify the title….

** Not mine… This is from the Kalevala. If you don't know what this is (and I wouldn't expect anyone to), it's a collection of poems from the Kaleva district of northern Finland – sort of a folk epic. Tolkien, who taught himself Finnish in order to read the Kalevala, was actually partially influenced by it when he wrote the Lord of the Rings. So anyway, I thought then it would be appropriate for me to quote parts of it, and I may do this more throughout the story when I need an elvish song since I'm too uncreative to make my own. Oh, and I do highly recommend the Kalevala to anyone who likes traditional folklore ….


	2. A Weary King

Wow! I got reviews! Thanks so much guys! Envinyatar, thank you for the suggestions – I'll go back and make the corrections. 

Do I have to make the disclaimer again? Well you know the deal… 

**A Weary King**

_"He should be hosting festivals, not hunting spiders."_

Aragorn pondered the wizard's earlier words as he weaved his way through the maze of passages, not far behind Legolas and Gandalf. A fiery glow lit the caverns. _And perhaps I should be hosting royal tournaments, instead of hiding in exile,_ he thought to himself. _But such are the times and places in which we were born into, and one cannot change that. Alas Mirkwood did not have a ring to fight the darkness, and my ancestors had not the will. _

Elvish songs bounced off the walls. Some lamented those who had passed to the Halls of Mandos, while others sang lighthearted tales of romance and adventure. The Mirkwood elves, clad in greens and browns, were all fair creatures with flaxen hair and bright eyes ranging from smoky grey to a deep turquoise. Their lithe forms were well adapted to flitting through the high branches of Mirkwood, and they seemed out of place in the confined caves within which the King dwelled. Aragorn noted that they were all armed with elegant wooden bows and knives – even those who he did not believe to be guards had at least a small knife on their belt or tucked away in their boot.  They eyed the unkempt ranger with a mixture of suspicion and condescension. Aragorn did not flinch at this though, but instead stared straight back with steely gray eyes. Gandalf placed a hand on the human's shoulder.

"It has been a long time since a non-elf has ventured into these halls. Do not be disconcerted by their stares."

"I think by now I have become quite used to elvish stares, though I admit these elves are rather more intense than the ones of Imladris," Aragorn replied, not removing his eyes from the elvish eyes that watched him.

"The Mirkwood elves have much to be suspicious of for they have experienced much pain and loss over the years, Aragorn. But when they accept you, you will see, they are actually quite lively and welcoming creatures. I think you will enjoy yourself here. Thranduil and his sons always offer some fine….. amusement."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at this, wondering what the wizard meant by that, but Gandalf only laughed softly and gazed ahead.

Legolas greeted a few of the guards, who in return would either bow respectfully, or grasp the prince's shoulder. 

"Here, here, if it isn't Thranduillion, returning from his hunts. How many spiders did your arrows strike today young elfling warrior of the wood? Or perhaps an unlucky orc has crossed the path of your bow?" 

Legolas gave a sidelong glance, and continued on, choosing to ignore this question. 

"Such strange guests you bring home these days, Prince Legolas! Soon you will be escorting a dwarf to the King's halls!"

_"Listen my friends to the tale of the dwarf _

_Who met the dwarf king _

_Who met a great wizard_

_Who told the dwarf king  _

_Of the two truths of the Valar_

_'What are these truths?' I asked the dwarf _

_Who met the dwarf king_

_'Well, the dwarf king forgot one,' said he,_

_'And I forgot the other!'"_

The guards laughed at this and continued with more songs of dwarfs, wizards, ents, eagles, and the great elven warriors of ages past including Gil-galad and Glorfindel. Aragorn recognized many of them, but his ears would also catch less familiar tales of Mirkwood's own heroes, the most popular being Oropher, the great king of Greenwood and Legolas's own grandfather, slain in the War of the Last Alliance.

"I hope we are not interrupting any… disagreements between you and your father, Legolas," Gandalf called to the elf, as they drew closer to the king's throne room. A smile played on his lips as he remembered a past visit in which Legolas had quite a skirmish with his father. Though the elf was never purposely disrespectful to his father, he did inherit Thranduil's obstinacy, inevitably leading to some heated confrontations.

Legolas slowly faced the wizard and his eyes narrowed. "No… no, we are currently on agreeable terms Mithrandir," he answered carefully as he turned on his heel again to lead them into the throne room of King Thranduil. 

"'Tis a shame….But worry not Aragorn, I'm sure a 'misunderstanding' will soon arise between father and son, and you will be in for a treat then," Gandalf happily whispered into Aragorn's ear. 

"As when Lord Elrond has a 'misunderstanding' with Elladan or Elrohir?" the ranger grinned at the wizard.

"Aye, or with you."

"Ha! Nay, Gandalf, those are never very amusing… Truly I did not know you could be so sadistic."

"A wizard must amuse himself somehow."

Before Aragorn could respond, Legolas led them through a pair of large oak doors into a spacious room, flooded with light. The ranger had seen a lot during his travels including great castles and fortresses built by the men of Gondor and Rohan, the ethereal dwelling of the Lady of the Wood, and elaborate mines, carved into the mountains by the dwarfs. What lay before him now caused Aragorn to catch his breath and mentally add the wood elves' abode to his list of wonders of Middle Earth.  

After emerging from the narrow passages, the room seemed to stretch out before him like a field.  The elves had painted on the walls colorful murals of Greenwood the Great which were so vivid, one could easily forget there were any walls at all. The high ceiling boasted images of the night sky, with several shades of blue softly blending into one another and myriad celestial objects blazing and flickering gently. The room had no sharp corners, but was rounded, as if it had been carved into the side of a hill, which indeed it was, as large round windows high in the walls of the northern part of the room revealed. A warm, pale glow of natural light flowed through these windows in steady beams, within which tiny particles danced and gleamed. Aragorn wandered into one of these beams, relishing the sunlight on his face. But what impressed him the most were the trees. Birch trees had been planted throughout the room, many reaching up to the ceiling. The white barks glowed in the sunlight and their leaves shaped delicate shadows upon the mossy ground. Clearly, the elves aimed to bring as much of the forest into their home as possible since they could no longer safely reside within the trees outside the palace walls. 

"And so the elves have carved a forest out of a cave," Aragorn breathed, in awe of the wood elves' craftsmanship.

Legolas stopped to take a deep breath, savoring the fresh scents provided by the flowers and birches. He placed a hand on one of the trees, feeling the life flow within its trunk.  This was by far his favorite room in the palace as it was the one room where he could actually forget he was in a cavern. 

"Never call a wood elf's home a cave," he answered lightheartedly. The elf turned and smiled at the ranger to assure him he appreciated the compliment. 

"Ah, the Gray Pilgrim arrives. Welcome Mithrandir." 

Once again, Aragorn found himself taken by surprise by a wood elf, whose deep voice reverberated throughout the otherwise silent room.  He looked down (for he had been holding his head up to the light) and watched as a tall, fair-haired elf emerged from the birch trees' shadows, bowing to Gandalf. Though Legolas could muster a rather imposing stance when he faced an opponent, his father Thranduil was innately authoritative and intimidating, even when he was relaxed and welcoming guests. Intense gray-blue eyes gazed upon the trio, pausing as they fell upon Aragorn. Once again, Aragorn fixed his stare, not wanting to show any weakness by looking away, though he admitted this was a little harder to achieve with the king than with his guards. 

"I see you have brought a guest Mithrandir," Thranduil's velvety voice noted with some curiosity. He raised an arched eyebrow at the wizard, who returned his bow respectfully. 

"Yes King Thranduil, indeed I have brought a guest of great honor to your halls, though his appearance right now may not attest to it," Gandalf responded, realizing that to the pristine elves, Aragorn must have appeared rather….scruffy for a foster son of Lord Elrond and a future king.

 "I do not doubt the honor of any guest of yours Master Wizard," Thranduil continued, waiting patiently for a more specific introduction. 

Gandalf smiled. "Well then let me introduce you to Aragorn of Arathorn, lord of the Dunadain and heir to the throne of Gondor, also known as Estel, by his foster father Lord Elrond."

At this, both of Thranduil's eyebrows were raised. "Lord Elrond's son! Well, this is quite a guest indeed! I could sense his nobility, for few humans dare to return a king's stare as he has," he smiled amicably as he gazed at Aragorn once again. "The hope of man…." King Thranduil muttered quietly to himself as he studied the ranger. 

"Well, you are most welcome here indeed, Estel.  Though we have not the serenity in these woods as can be found in Rivendell, I hope you will find your stay to be comfortable. I think you will find the hospitality of my people most agreeable."

Suddenly, Thranduil frowned slightly, as if remembering something.

"Ah! Forgive me, I have not yet even offered you drink or food, and I do not doubt your journey must have been long and arduous." With that Thranduil motioned to one of his guards, who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere carrying a tray with four goblets of wine.  

The four helped themselves to the wine and Thranduil invited Gandalf to sit in one of the large oak chairs behind him after waving off the guard. Gandalf sat down gratefully, taking a long sip from his goblet. The wine was an opaque red-purple, with the sweet aromas of plum and blackberries. It was potent and smooth, leaving a sweet lingering flavor.  _It is always a pleasure to taste the wood elves' wine, Gandalf thought cheerfully.  _

Aragorn and Legolas chose to stand though seats were offered to each of them. Thranduil seated himself with a weary sigh beside Gandalf.  Aragorn noted how tired he looked. Dark circles exacerbated an already drawn face, though the elf did his best to hide his weariness. Clearly the growing shadow on Mirkwood was taking its toll even on the king.  

 "I see you stumbled upon my son on your way here," Thranduil remarked to the wizard next to him.

"Actually, I believe it was your son who found us. He is quite the skilled tracker Thranduil," Gandalf returned, looking pointedly at Legolas.

Thranduil's brows furrowed slightly at this. "Yes… he certainly is…. I hope he did not give you any trouble, Mithrandir."

"Oh, no, no, no… I was just surprised at how easily he found us. It is quite a skill he has. I believe it rivals that of many elven warriors," Gandalf clarified as he thoughtfully gazed at Legolas. 

Thranduil's features relaxed, as did Legolas's who was grateful the wizard had not chosen to take his revenge by informing his father of his actions in the wood. _That would have been cruel indeed, and I would have to drop more than an acorn on his head for that!_

"So tell me Aragorn, for much time has passed since either Legolas or I have journeyed to Imladris. How fare Lord Elrond and his kin?" Thranduil asked after taking several sips of his wine. 

"I'm afraid many years have passed since I have last dwelled in Rivendell as well, my lord, and I have not heard news of them since," Aragorn replied.

"Many years?" Thranduil chuckled at this. "Tell me Master Human, how many years has it been? Five? Ten? Fifty? For I have not journeyed to Imladris for over a hundred years. Many years for you is but a blink of an eye for me."

"In that case, when I left them six years ago, they fared well. Lord Elrond was continuing with his studies, of course, and Elladan and Elrohir were traveling with the Dunadain. Since I have not heard any news from Imladris since then, I assume they are still well, though one must always be wary of assumptions." Aragorn chose not to go into Arwen's visit from Lorien. 

"I am glad to hear they are well then," the King said softly, distractedly swirling the wine in his glass. He then looked up at Aragorn, a smile tugging at his features. "You certainly are rather elvish for a human, young ranger. I see Lord Elrond has raised you well."

"Aye, Elladan and Elrohir certainly taught him a lot as well," the wizard added, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

The king chuckled at this. "So they have…" As he looked up at his son however, his laugh died on his lips. _Was it there? Aye, of course it was there you fool! A gleam in his eyes. *That* gleam in his eyes that can only mean trouble for me. Thranduil eyed his son closely. Indeed Legolas snapped to attention when Elladan and Elrohir were mentioned, and when he heard Aragorn was taught by the masters of mischief themselves, his eyes lit up with mirth.  Thranduil glared at his son and glanced worriedly at Gandalf and Aragorn._

"I hope they did not teach him too much."

Gandalf smiled. "Don't worry. Humans grow up quickly, Thranduil, and any, shall we say, _unsavory lessons taught by the twins, I'm sure have been long forgotten."_

Thranduil sighed, glancing again at Legolas, a little less harshly this time. "If only elves could grow up so quickly…"

Aragorn frowned slightly, irritated about being the subject of conversation when he was not actually included in the conversation.  A glance at Legolas showed the elf to be rather irritated himself as he returned his father's glare. But Legolas chose not to say anything, and instead stood as still as a statue, watching and listening intently, but not reacting outwardly to his father and the wizard. 

Gandalf turned to Thranduil and his face grew serious. "Be careful what you wish for my King. There are many parents who regret their children having to grow up too quickly for it is often too soon that young ones must face the darkness of this world when we long to shelter them from such pain and grief. If our children can retain but a bit of their mirth even into their adult years, it is a blessing indeed." 

Thranduil was about to respond when the wizard decided to continue. "Now, I do apologize to Legolas and Aragorn, but there is much I must speak to you about, King Thranduil…"

"Legolas, why don't you show Aragorn around the palace," Thranduil hastily suggested leaving no need for the wizard to elaborate. The ranger and elf quickly took the hint and turned to leave. The elf king watched worriedly as they exited the room. He still was not entirely comforted by Gandalf's remarks about Aragorn being beyond any childish pranks. Perhaps he was when he was out in the wild, in the company of the Dunadain, but what would happen when he spent time with Legolas? Surely the elf would bring out the worst in him. The worst being only Elbereth knows - whatever the twins had taught him. 

After several long moments, sitting affably in silence, Gandalf turned to Thranduil.

"I meant what I said about your son. His tracking skills are truly extraordinary.  And it seems his talent with the bow and arrow is legendary within your halls." The wizard tried to catch the elf's eye, but Thranduil continued to gaze ahead, gracefully swirling the wine in his glass.

"Aye," the King responded distractedly, "He is well trained. And you have witnessed his archery skills before. They are indeed legendary." Thranduil recalled a tournament a century ago in which Legolas had not only been the victor, but had surpassed every record that had been previously set in speed, accuracy and distance. Since then the prince had developed a reputation of being by far, the finest archer in Mirkwood, perhaps even Middle Earth. The king proudly remembered Legolas as he calmly released his arrows, one by one, in a fluid, rapid sequence so that each hit its respective target like a bolt of lightning. The crowd had gone silent with awe. King Thranduil merely leaned back contentedly in his seat and watched his son impassively. He already knew Legolas was the best of his archers. His achievements in the tournament were no surprise to the king. 

"Yes, I remember that very clearly, Thranduil, for never had such a relatively young elf so impressed me." Gandalf paused for a moment, but when no response came from Thranduil, he continued.

"He is clever also. And I can see he has a strong attachment to Middle Earth. A rarity amongst elves…" Though Gandalf turned away in his seat so that he again faced straight ahead, he continued to watch Thranduil out of the corner of his eye.

"Aye, Mithrandir, I sometimes find he is too clever for his own good… or for mine. As for his love for Middle Earth, he has not yet heard the sea, though I admit he does have an uncanny attachment to this world and is not as eager as his siblings and mother were to leave, despite the pain we have faced."

"Yes, yes of course, but it is more than that…" Gandalf mused thoughtfully. _Indeed, I did not even think of that! It is odd he does not wish to sail West with the rest of his kin. After all, he is not the crown prince. The Grey Havens could ease his pain of losing his brothers yet he chooses to stay. Perhaps he senses some greater purpose here as well. One's instincts often can sense one's fate._

Now Thranduil turned his gaze sharply at Gandalf, as he gently placed his goblet down on the table next to him. 

"Mithrandir, what is it exactly you are trying to say?" Thranduil slowly inquired, narrowing his eyes at the wizard. 

"Oh, nothing, nothing... I was merely thinking aloud, that is all. You have much to be proud of, my King.  But now I fear, we have much darker matters to discuss." Gandalf hastily changed the subject and forced his mind to settle on more pertinent matters instead of racing ahead to battles yet to come. 

"Indeed we do Mithrandir," Thranduil's voice deepened and his face became grim, but he did not hesitate in delivering his dire news to Gandalf. "Three Nazgul have reoccupied Dol Guldur and with them, the shadow upon Mirkwood grows greater than ever. Spiders and orcs march upon our woods and we often feel the chill of the Nazgul upon us.  My people are still recovering from the first attack on Dol Gulder and the Battle of the Five Armies. We struggle against the enemy, but he feeds upon our strife. He grows strong as we grow weak. And worse…." Thranduil paused, unable to finish. The elf then looked up at Gandalf, his eyes laden with grief. "I have lost many warriors, Mithrandir. Many fine warriors."

Gandalf sighed wearily, but did not yet respond.

"Mithrandir, many bodies are missing."

Gandalf stiffened and looked sharply at Thranduil. "What do you mean the bodies are missing?"

The grief in Thranduil's eyes gave way to frustration as he described to Gandalf the unsettling events that, since the reoccupation of Dol Guldur, have been troubling him to the point where his mind would not permit his body a moment's rest. 

"_I mean_, there are not enough dead bodies to account for all those presumed dead by the orcs' and Nazguls' swords. _I mean, there are many who are not necessarily _dead_, but they are __missing from my realm. The finest warriors, Mithrandir! And there is not a trace of them anywhere." Thranduil leaned in closer to Gandalf, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mithrandir, it is my belief that these warriors, some of the strongest Mirkwood has to offer, are being taken alive….or physically alive at least, for who knows what torture has been wreaked upon their souls. That is what I mean when I say Sauron is feeding off of us. He is quite literally growing stronger with my own warriors."_

Gandalf leaned back in his chair, staring intently at Thranduil, and then turned his gaze aside. 

"You believe he is using your elves to breed more orcs?" Gandalf's question was barely audible.

"Yes. How else can you explain their disappearance? Hostages? I think not Mithrandir." Thranduil leaned back in his chair and reached for his goblet to resume swirling its contents.*

 "The Nazgul have returned to Dol Guldur… but the ring… the ring has passed down to the sea…" Gandalf muttered under his breath.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows. "What was that Mithrandir?"

"And you believe he is breeding even more orcs," Gandalf went on, ignoring Thranduil's question.

"Are you truly surprised that this is so, Mithrandir? That Sauron is preparing another attack?"

"But he will not find the ring here. Saruman has discovered that the ring has passed down the Anduin to the sea. It is no longer within the borders of these lands. Does Sauron not know this? Why send the Nazgul back to Dol Guldur, when the ring is no where near here? And to breed more orcs… Why would he do this unless he thought he had a chance at retrieving the ring? For only with the One Ring can he really hope to prevail… Thranduil, you are sure of all this?"

"Do you doubt me, Master Wizard?" Thranduil nearly bellowed, his eyes flashing angrily, as he arose from his seat, slamming his wine on the table so that much of it spilled, the red liquid quickly staining the table's surface. The woodland king was notorious for his quick temper and no one, not a dwarf nor elf nor wizard, was exempt from feeling his wrath. 

"Peace Thranduil! Peace! Forgive me… No, I do not doubt your word." Gandalf assured the king, as he gently pushed him back down to his seat. "Yes I suppose it is possible Sauron does not know about the ring's passing… Thus he continues his search," Gandalf mused, though a tinge of doubt colored his voice. "But when he does discover the ring is not within the bounds of Mirkwood, or even Middle Earth, he will send the Nazgul elsewhere." Gandalf tried to reason, though he knew this did not explain the fate of the missing elves.

Thranduil shook his head, but calmed down considerably. "Nay, Mithrandir," he whispered softly. "Something is amiss. Sauron is rebuilding Barad-dur. His Nazgul are sent to my wood and the darkness grows fiercer and my warriors are disappearing. He is planning something mellonin…I fear he is one step ahead of us."

"He has been planning his return ever since his first retreat. But as long as he does not have the One Ring…"

"Whether he has the One Ring or not, he is gaining power," the king's voice rose again. "Alas, Mirkwood does not have a ring to protect it and thus we must witness how the shadow grows." Thranduil grabbed Gandalf's arm and articulated each word, "I do not know how much longer we can fight this. The elves are fading. We control but a fraction of Mirkwood, and it shrinks every day, little by little. We cannot hold out much longer and we will not be ready for whatever it is Sauron is planning."

Gandalf held the King's stare. Thranduil's eyes revealed much pain and grief, and something new to Gandalf. _Fear.__  Thranduil was an exceedingly proud elf, and would never openly admit his weaknesses, nor allow his features to betray even a hint of fear. This unsettled Gandalf greatly. Knowing not what else to do, the wizard placed his hand upon the King's. _

"You must keep fighting Thranduil. Should Mirkwood fall, much hope will be lost. I do not doubt the strength of your people, nor should you." 

"I do not doubt their strength, but I do doubt their will to save Middle Earth. Most are not like Legolas. They wish to leave Middle Earth and sail West, and they do. Every day more leave for the Grey Havens, for the shadow has become too much for them to bear." Again Thranduil lifted his goblet and swirled what little liquid was left in it, ignoring the stickiness of the spilled wine on his fingers.

"And you, Thranduil? Do you wish to sail West?"

The King sighed. Several moments passed before he answered. "Nay, Mithrandir. My love for Greenwood is still great and I wish to see her restored. Though my heart aches to join my wife, son and daughter, I cannot abandon this wood so easily.  As long as there is hope, I must remain. And even if there is none, I believe I would rather fade with Mirkwood than abandon her."

"Then you concede that there is hope, Thranduil."

The king sighed again and the two sat quietly for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Gandalf watched a beam of light fall on a cluster of leaves. Though there was no breeze, they seemed to tremble slightly, causing the light to bounce and scatter against their glossy surface. Thranduil stared into his wine, entranced by its circular motion, as it lapped against the sides of the glass.

At last, Gandalf spoke. "I do not doubt a great battle will fall upon us. I am not denying that, Thranduil. I do not know when or how it will begin, but I do know it will be the greatest battle Middle Earth has ever known as all the races will have no other choice but to join together against Sauron. You are not alone, and you will not be alone." 

"It does not often feel that way."

"Dwarves and men have been witnessing this evil as well. Moria has suffered gravely.."

"Dwarves! Ha! They suffer due to their greed. They will not fight with us. They will bury themselves away in their mountains, perhaps waking a few more dragons while they're at it."

"Do not be so sure of that Thranduil. They too know they cannot fight this alone, or hide from the darkness forever."

Thranduil snorted and Gandalf decided not to press the issue further. 

"I see great hope in your son, Thranduil," Gandalf carefully began. "He is a great warrior, with a great devotion to Middle Earth…"

"Back to my son again? Why, Mithrandir? What have you got planned?" Thranduil queried, setting his glass down for the last time. The wizard sat silently. Thranduil again grabbed his arm and gazed penetratingly into his eyes.

"You wish to take him away from me. That is what you wish to ask, but do not know how. Yes, you see something in Legolas, and you think he can serve some greater purpose, outside of the safety of this palace, outside of Mirkwood even. Aye, Mithrandir, you will take him from me then," Thranduil fought back the anguish growing in his eyes. He was a powerful and commanding king, awe-inspiring to those who encountered him, but he was also a father and the thought of losing yet another child, pained him deeply. This he could not hide from Gandalf. The wizard's eyes softened and he spoke softly.

"No, mellonin. I would not take him from you. Legolas will choose his fate with his own free will." 

"But you will request it of him. And Legolas would never refuse a request from you Mithrandir."

Gandalf looked up at Thranduil. "A great fate awaits your son, but he will not encounter it within the confines of Mirkwood. His heart yearns to travel, and his talent and soul will be stifled if he remains here. I cannot explain to you how I know these things, but I do. I see it in his eyes. I do not wish to cause you grief by forcing you to part with yet another of your kin, though as I said, I would never _force _anything. But remember Thranduil, leaving home, does not mean leaving forever. You may find that you must part with him, but that does not mean he will not return."

Thranduil rubbed his pounding head with his elegantly jeweled hands and slowly closed his eyes. Rest would not find the troubled king anytime soon. 

"When? When will it be Mithrandir?"

"I do not know Thranduil."

"You do not come to request his services now then?"

"I do not know what to request now. This news you bring me of the Nazgul and your missing warriors is grim indeed and I must reflect on it for now, in light of the last White Council." 

Thranduil dropped his hands. "'Tis dark days we live in."

"Aye, but hope remains. The world can turn on a single act. Indeed, every deed has the capacity to alter fate. Now is not the time to yield."

TBC

I think I'll stop there and save Legolas's & Aragorn's adventures in the palace for the next chapter… I can see now how these stories can end up being so long! 

*All right, so here I may be making an erroneous assumption, making this slightly AU. Orcs were said to be originally bred from corrupted elves. So, I guess that probably means they were only used once to breed orcs & from then on orcs could be reproduced from other orcs and then the Uruk hai were bred from that… but I don't recall anything specific about how these guys were reproduced, so for the purposes of my little story here, I'm going to assume that though orcs could be bred from other orcs, perhaps Saruman & Sauron, especially when making the Uruk-hai folk, decided to get some shiny new elves….(geez, here I am nit-picking the science of reproducing orcs…Perhaps I should get some sleep now…)


	3. Messages, Stories, and Archery Lessons

ARGH! I'm an idiot, and I removed my story, thus losing the reviews, in the process of trying to edit the first two chapters (such small stuff also!) Oh well… Its all reposted now… 

Anyway, once again, I have to thank the reviewers! You guys are so encouraging! Honestly, I really didn't know what I was getting into when I first started writing this – I just had so many scenes in my head that I had to get out. Anyway, I know you guys like elvish humor, and I tried to get some of that in, but there is also quite a large bit of angst in this…. (Life's not all fun and games, right? ;) 

**Messages, Stories, and Archery Lessons**

With a soft thud, the colossal wooden doors swung shut, leaving Aragorn and Legolas alone in the dimly lit passages.  The murky, flickering light contrasted with the bright radiance that warmed the throne room and Aragorn's eyes took a moment to adjust. His ears also found that sound traveled quite differently in the narrow, cramped corridors than in the capacious room from which they emerged. Melodious voices sounded distant and hollow though they were just around the corner. 

 "And so we are excluded from the noble council of those higher than us, it seems," Aragorn murmured, slightly taken aback at how the resonance of his voice changed in these new surroundings.

Disappointment momentarily crossed the human's face at the thought of being shunned by Gandalf, but he knew the wizard meant no insult to him.  Besides, surely Gandalf would inform him later of all that had passed between himself and Thranduil.  The ranger had a notion of the matters that plagued the pair's minds - Gandalf was concerned about the growing threat of the shadow, despite Saruman's assurances that the One Ring had passed to the Sea and clearly the woodland King was not exactly comforted by the darkness overtaking Mirkwood either. Any specific concerns the two shared however, for now remained elusive._ His eyes turned on the pale haired elf at his side._

"Aye, so it seems Aragorn.  Let the sages confer on our troubles and we instead can chase the sun. By the time we return, perhaps they will decide to include us," though his words were lighthearted, Legolas's voice, laced with sarcasm, betrayed his frustration. _Does my father believe this shadow does not affect me as well?_

"Well, I don't know about the sun, but there is much I desire to see of Mirkwood," the ranger laughed, relieved the elf too was annoyed at being eschewed. 

"And there is much to set eyes on in Mirkwood! But first there is something of great importance I must have you deliver for me to Imladris." 

His good humor restored, Legolas sprightly leapt ahead with Aragorn springing close behind. Once again, they passed through multiple elaborate passages, weaving in and out of the torches' glow.  Though Aragorn wondered how one could ever find their way through the entwining halls, Legolas reflexively strolled through them with an ingrained knowledge of their direction like a bird that always knows which way is south. 

Finally, after climbing some flights of stairs and heading down more halls, they reached a door on the other side of which was a small room, furnished with a large ebony bed and dressers also carved out of the fine wood. The area was compulsively neat, with various colorful paintings, knives and swords hanging carefully on the wall. A few knick-knacks – carvings, figurines, jewels, and boxes occupied the surfaces of the dressers. Vines and small plants also graced the walls and furnishings of the room.  Aragorn assumed this to be Legolas's room. 

Legolas purposefully strode straight towards a night table where he opened a small box adorned with elvish symbols and pulled something out of it.  Unsmiling and with a solemn look in his eyes, as if concealed in his grip was the One Ring itself, Legolas turned to face Aragorn. He did not speak right away, allowing the silence to testify to the great importance of the urgent task he was about to drop upon the ranger's shoulders.  Aragorn's face too drew serious. His eyes hardened and his body stiffened in an automatic reaction to any grave duty that was about to be bestowed on him. Finally, the elf reached out and grabbed Aragorn's hand, stretching out his fingers so that the palm was open. As he held the ranger's eyes firmly with his own, he laid his other hand on top of Aragorn's, dropping its contents into the outstretched palm. He then closed Aragorn's fingers around it and continued to grasp his fist, still binding Aragorn's gaze to his own. 

"I trust you will deliver this successfully to Masters Elrohir and Elladan," the elf articulated, sounding very much like Lord Elrond when he entrusted one of his children with a serious task.  

Aragorn raised his eyebrows at this. _Elladan__ and Elrohir?_ He certainly was not expecting his wily twin foster brothers to be the recipients of whatever it was Legolas wanted him to deliver. He cocked his head and released his stare from Legolas's, redirecting his eyes to his clenched fist. Slowly, he stretched open his hand, revealing the mysterious object in his palm.

Aragorn blinked. His brows furrowed in confusion and he blinked again. His head snapped up at the elf, who still wore the same grave expression, and Aragorn looked back down at his hand. He then looked up again, this time catching the amusement dancing in the blue elvish orbs and the smirk growing on the elf's lips. Aragorn decided to put his confusion into words. Or at least try to….

"What….," was all his baffled mind would allow him to verbalize.  

But even if the human could think of a more eloquent question, Legolas was quick to interrupt.

"Tell Elladan and Elrohir, my rise to power has begun and soon I will reign over the Misty Mountains for I have solved the riddle of how dwarves reproduce and I have in fact begun to breed my own. The object I send with you is proof of this great feat." 

The elf was obviously referencing an old tale that dwarves sprang out of the rocks. Aragorn's eyes widened slightly as he fell into a deepening state of confusion. Again his eyes darted to the object in his hand. Indeed, this was not the One Ring or palantir or any other object of great importance, but a small stone figure of a dwarf. It was meticulously carved out of granite, and a ridiculous, lopsided grin was painted on the miniature face, along with crazed, bulging eyes. Had Aragorn been but a child, he truly believed the dwarf would have given him nightmares should he come across it in the darkness of night, gazing upon him with that ominous smile and wide-open eyes.  Aragorn glanced up once more at Legolas and his mouth opened to speak, but once again, he was at a complete loss for words. _I do not think I really want to know anyway…_ He shook his head, imagining the delivery of this rather bizarre message and statuette to his brothers. Surely, they would understand of course, being a part of whatever twisted inside joke this was. _They'll probably send me back with hobbits made of straw, with a message that they will soon be sovereigns over the Halflings. Ai… Elves…._

Legolas chuckled at the human's bewilderment and grasped his shoulder. 

"Come, now I will show you my home."

Aragorn nodded and dropped the figure into his pocket, proceeding out into the hallway on the heels of Legolas. 

Their first stop was an elongated room, with an oval table, gilded with gold and surrounded by many elegant chairs with tall backs, ornamented with small jewels. On the wall were various murals laced with gold of elvish legends, both real and mythological. Glass cabinets housed spectacular jewels, including figurines carved out of diamonds and emeralds, holding globes of pearl and turquoise, and brilliant gold plated crowns. The head chair at the table had one very large sapphire embedded in the top and intricate gold designs embellishing the arms and back.  An ostentatious crystal chandelier swung over the table and extravagant candelabras provided additional light. Honestly, Aragorn found the motif to be rather garish, and preferred the natural beauty of the throne room, but he was still impressed.  Legolas's eyes wondered about the room, showing no sign of pride at the excessive ornamentation.

"This is my father's main council room… As you can see he enjoys showing off his collection of jewels…." The words were bitter on Legolas's tongue. The elf disdained his father's obsession with precious stones and his desire to ostensibly display them like this, knowing full well the intent was to awe with his riches whomever it was he was negotiating with.To Legolas, the idea was utterly pointless, as was this whole obsession with jewels in the first place. 

"I take it you disapprove then of your father's collection?" the ranger queried, gazing at Legolas out of the corner of his eye.

"Let's just say they have caused more problems than they are worth. I often wish that my father had taken up weaving or gardening as a hobby instead. Our lives would be so much more peaceful..." Legolas sighed wistfully.

Aragorn grinned at the fleeting image he had of the formidable elf king weaving delicate tapestries or growing tomatoes in his own little square garden. 

"Unfortunately it is our parents who raise us and not the other way around," the ranger replied.

"Aye, I wish not to raise him, only that he would listen to me from time to time. But come," and again Legolas turned, leading Aragorn to the library.

The library was a round room, with tall shelves boasting an extensive collection of dusty books, withered parchments, and ancient scrolls.  Aragorn scanned the titles until one caught his eye - _The Annals of King Oropher. Carefully, he pulled it out and began flipping through the weathered pages, skimming its contents with a keen interest. _

Meanwhile, Legolas lightly hopped to the top of a beautiful table made of birch wood, and from there to the head of a velvet armchair, and from there to a shelf to yet another shelf. The elf continued to nimbly climb up the shelves until he reached the top, where he shuffled through a pile of old books and parchments.  Apparently the border between furniture and trees was indistinguishable to a wood elf, and Legolas had no qualms about flouncing upon the fine upholstery in order to reach his destination.  Had Aragorn or his brothers attempted such a stunt in Rivendell, Lord Elrond surely would have burst a couple of veins in his forehead at the sight of feet that had previously trodden on Elbereth-knows what filth, tramping on his beautiful furniture. 

"Ah… here it is. Aragorn, I have something that may be of some interest to you," the elf called down from atop his perch. He then sat cross-legged, patiently waiting for the ranger to join him.

Aragorn calmly looked up from his reading. "You will have to return to the ground then Master Elf, for I am no wood elf and I care not to break my neck while attempting to climb up to meet you." 

Legolas blinked before the words sunk in a moment later. He had grown up surrounded by wood elves, all of whom took their climbing skills for granted. Only on rare occasions did he encounter creatures that did not possess the agility of the elves. Thus, for Aragorn to point out that he could not so easily climb the towering shelves was like someone telling him they knew not how to walk on flat ground.

"Forgive me lord ranger – as my father said, you are so elvish in your ways, it is easy to forget you are merely a human," Legolas said as he noiselessly made his way back down. 

When he reached the ground, Aragorn put down his book and pointedly looked at the elf. 

"_Merely a human, I may be, but at least I know my limits, Master Elf."_

Legolas cocked an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting I don't?"

 "Well, I know better than to challenge a wizard," Aragorn stated simply, smirking at the look of innocence that the elf somehow mustered on his fair face. 

Legolas shrugged nonchalantly and walked towards a small round table to show Aragorn the book he was carrying. 

"I know not what you speak of Aragorn. I did nothing of the sort," he flippantly replied as he beckoned Aragorn to look at the book. 

_The House of Elendil. Aragorn frowned slightly when he read the title and his frown deepened as he opened the book._

"These are all the tales of your ancestors Aragorn… I have read them before, they are quite fascinating indeed…"

Before the elf could finish, Aragorn shut the book and laid it back down the table. 

"I have no need to be reminded of my ancestor's tales," he said curtly as he returned to the book on Oropher.

Legolas eyed the ranger closely, stunned by this reaction. _He is ashamed. _Well, that is a story for another time then. _Though Legolas was curious to delve deeper into Aragorn's thoughts and fears about his past and his future, he decided now was not the time to irk the ranger further, not when they had only just met a few hours ago. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something else that might interest Aragorn. There were plenty of legends and chronicles of Kings, both of Mirkwood and other elven realms, detailed studies of healing techniques, chronicles of the other races – hobbits, dwarves, humans, and even the dark races of goblins and trolls - and numerous fictional elvish tales. He glanced back at Aragorn, who appeared to be absorbed in the tales of Oropher._

"He was my grandfather you know."

Aragorn looked up, his prior irritation completely gone from his eyes.         

"Aye… I did know," he said softly.

Legolas searched around the room again, not much in the mood right now to elaborate on the tales Aragorn was currently encountering in the voluminous book. Of course he knew all the tales, both written and unwritten, about his grandfather by heart. But if he began to tell them now, he feared he may find himself unable to stop and he had yet to show Aragorn the best part of Mirkwood (in his own opinion that is) besides Thranduil's throne room– the archery grounds.  Finally Legolas' eyes rested upon something he thought might pique the ranger's interest. A map. 

Legolas allowed Aragorn to finish reading before he brought the map to his attention. Several long minutes passed before the ranger finally set down the book and looked up at the elf who was watching him pensively. Had he not known better, he would have been rather disconcerted by the elf's watchful interest in him, but he knew Legolas meant no harm, discomfort or insult. When the elf saw that Aragorn had finished reading, he set the map down and again motioned for Aragorn to take a look. 

"I doubt Mithrandir took the trouble to show you any maps of Mirkwood before escorting you here, so I thought you might take some interest in seeing where it was you had traveled."

Aragorn studied the map intently. Legolas was right – Gandalf had not shown him any map indicating where he was being taken, though he had inquired.

 '_Map?_ Pah! I have traveled these trails more times in my years than a hobbit thinks of food in a lifetime. And you, young Dunadan, must learn to find your way around without foolish, outdated maps. You must use your instincts, Aragorn! Let your nose lead the way if you must!'__

Of course, he had seen maps of Middle Earth and of Mirkwood before, but this particular one interested him since it was created by the Mirkwood elves themselves.  On it, the elves had marked down all the major battles they had been involved in with detailed dates and names of the leaders involved. Also illustrated on the map were the coming Oropher and his small following of Sindar elves. Finally, Aragorn noted a series of lines, starting at the edge of the forest and continuing towards the wood elves' dwelling. Next to the lines were dates. 

"These lines…"Aragorn began, pointing at the map, "they show how far the shadow has spread?"

"Aye they indeed show the movement of the shadow over the years. They're not fully representative of course, since no solid wall divides the shadow from non-shadow. But they do show a rough estimation of how it has grown," Legolas answered, his voice saddening at the last part of his statement. 

Aragorn unconsciously traced with his finger each line up to the very last one which disturbingly looked a little too close to the halls of the woodland king. 

"Whatever it is Gandalf and Thranduil are currently discussing, we better hope they will have some success in formulating a plan against this," he muttered.  

Legolas nodded in agreement and peered over Aragorn's shoulder. 

Suddenly, Legolas' reluctance to tell the tales of his people fled him. 

"Would you like to hear of the other stories told in this map?" the elf asked."For Mirkwood is more than just a land taken by shadow." 

Aragorn turned and nodded, his eyes revealing a sincere curiosity. 

Legolas then moved beside him and proceeded to gracefully point to various spots on the map, narrating each with either a tale of battle or one detailing the arrival of the first elf lords. There were the great battles of course – the War of the Last Alliance for example – but there were also numerous, valiant fights against evil by lesser known elves – ones that sacrificed themselves for their lovers or children, or fought a band of orcs with nothing more than a small knife to save their home. The more the evil threatened them, the fiercer the elves fought, with whatever weapons they had at their disposal, though they could only hold back the shadow for so long. Legolas's voice was musical and comforting, and Aragorn found himself lulled by the enchantment of these elvish tales (always best when told by an actual elf, for only the first-born have the mystical power to make both the mirth and melancholy of their stories penetrate the listener's soul).  Aragorn's mind absorbed every word uttered by Legolas, storing them so that one day he too could pass on these tales to one willing to listen.

One tale stood out, for Legolas' voice, though stable, softened considerably and took on an entirely different tone. His eyes darkened as they rested upon the spot where it had supposedly taken place. The tale was one of two brothers that hunted on the outskirts of Mirkwood, nearly 1900 years ago, when Dol Guldur was made a stronghold by what was thought to be the Nazgul.  The brothers, born in the Second Age, were two of the finest warriors in Mirkwood, though, much to their father's distress, they were known for allowing their fiery stubbornness to drag them into situations that were clearly over their heads. The brothers came from a rather large family – they had two younger brothers, an older one, and a younger sister. But since they were closest in age – only fifty years apart - they spent nearly all their days and nights together in lessons, play, and mischief-making, thus developing a bond that could not be broken with the strongest of weapons or the farthest of distances. One could never be found without the other.

As they were hunting, an icy chill suddenly replaced the warm summer breeze, and a stifling darkness fell over them as the sun abruptly disappeared into a midnight sky, though it was still early afternoon. They then heard an ear-splitting wail. The cry was so terrible it seemed as if it had fingers reaching into them, scratching and grating at their throats and in their chests, reaching down through their trembling arms and legs, to every limb in their body, poisoning their veins and causing their hearts to swell in fear. Like a serpent, it tantalizingly wrapped around their minds, taunting them and satiating their heads with foul, sinister thoughts, choking their very souls. One brother collapsed to his knees, his nails tearing at his face, his hair, his ears, struggling to stop the cry and to rip out the burning iciness than froze his insides. The other, older brother grappled with his own pain, but because he was somehow less affected by the horrible evil that befell them, he strove to help his other half. But nothing seemed to mollify the heaving, retching elf as he continued to tear at himself, now drawing blood from his wrists and face. 

Finally, the cry stopped. A suffocating, heavy silence fell over them. The younger brother lay deathly still on the ground, his face a sickly shade of gray and coated with tiny beads of sweat, eyes squeezed shut.  But before the older one could examine him, a dark, cloaked figure suddenly appeared before them. The older brother's limbs became heavy as if they were trying to run through water. His entire body remained rooted to the ground, petrified, and despite his struggles, the only sound he could make was the terrified scream in his mind. The hooded figure slowly glided towards them, like a snake slithering towards its cornered prey. As the creature approached, the older brother could see and feel its misty, haggard breath. At last it halted and the deafening silence now seemed worse than the cry, as the creature stood patiently still, watching with unseen eyes. A cloud of breath flowed from the abysmal darkness hidden beneath the hood, its light sigh the only sound to break the silence. It let out another breath. A bony hand then slowly reached into its cloak and gradually pulled out a long, jagged sword. Time moved in slow motion as the sword was raised above its head. As the older elf finally found his voice to let out a blood curdling scream, the figure swiftly stabbed his supine brother not far from his heart. 

The stab released the older brother from his spell and he ripped his feet from whatever force it was that held him down. In a passionate, deranged fury, he tackled the creature.  Despite his frenzied, determined efforts, the creature proved to be a slippery, impossible foe to hold down and eventually it slid from his grip, striking the side of the elf with the butt of his sword, and then mercilessly hitting him again in the stomach. The elf withered to the ground, bent over in pain, but the creature chose not to finish off his opponent. Instead, for cruel reasons that were yet to reveal themselves, the figure disappeared, leaving the elf on his knees with the feeling that he was drowning as he desperately grasped for breath. Suddenly, the darkness lifted, and the warm breeze returned, like a swift summer storm that rapidly dissipated leaving in its wake a fresh, blue sky.

When finally the elf overcame the searing pain in his side, he moved towards his brother who still lay prone on the ground. Tearfully, he turned him over, and to his great surprise, his brother's blue eyes were wide open and his chest rose in a slow, but steady breath.  The elf was too overjoyed by this to realize that it would be impossible for any being to survive such a wound and something must have been amiss. Indeed, his relief was tragically short lived. For a moment later his brother let out an agonizing scream and his eyes darted about wildly not looking at anything in particular, but still desperately searching for something. The older elf tried to cradle his brother – he tenderly stroked his drenched, matted hair, held tightly to his balmy hands and spoke soothing words to ease his brother's pain. But despite his efforts, the elf only continued to wail, his eyes all the while searching. Then, miraculously, the older elf made contact with his younger brother. As he gently held the elf's pallid face in his trembling hands, their eyes met and the younger elf was momentarily subdued. But the hollow words that replaced the screams ripped apart the other elf's heart.

"You must end this. You cannot let me become this," the elf begged, his voice so weak and raspy, it barely rose above a hoarse whisper.

"We will, my brother, we will. I will take you home. We will heal you, I swear it on my life. Father will of course have both our heads anyway for wandering out so far, but you will be ok, I swear it, I swear brother…I will take on this sickness that ails you myself if that is what it takes." 

"No! No, you don't understand, it will be too late and it will be for naught, my brother, it will be for naught…" the younger elf gasped and pleaded. His eyes glazed over, becoming vacuous orbs. He retched as his entire body erupted in powerful spasms. Then, in a sudden burst of strength, he tore himself from his brother's grasp, causing him to fall back.  His hand bolted for a knife, which during the older one's struggle with the hooded creature, had fallen to the ground. As the suffering elf grabbed the knife, his brother wrestled him down, but crumbled in shock when his younger brother dug and twisted the knife into his shoulder. The brothers' eyes locked again, one pair tearful and wide in fright, the other empty and black like two bottomless pits. But the two pits flashed, and for no more time than a single twinkle of a star, a mournful blue light glimmered, expressing in that moment more than could be expressed in a lifetime of sorrow and regret. The elf pulled the knife from his brother's shoulder. Then the eyes went blank as he collapsed in a pool of crimson blood after driving the sharp edge into the heart that the creature had cruelly missed. Neither a scream nor a shudder would pass from the elf ever again. 

The older brother howled in agony. He shakily held onto his brother's body, oblivious to the blood soaking his clothes and unable to even bear the thought of ever letting go. He had known no other life than the one he shared with his brother. Horrible guilt wreaked havoc on his battered soul - guilt at not stopping the creature from stabbing his brother, not being able to kill it afterwards to avenge his brother, guilt for not being the one chosen to face this awful fate in the first place, guilt for the moment of infinite sorrow he saw in his brother's eyes before he ended his life. _Forgive me, my brother, please… forgive me…too many seasons that have yet to come you will now never see…Ai! I cannot bear to face them alone! _How could he continue with his life, his eternal life, without his brother, his other half, at his side, always laughing and scheming? How could he ever forgive himself for allowing this to happen, for the sorrow, the horrible sorrow he saw in those once glittering eyes? It is said an elf could die of heartbreak. This elf's heart shattered into a thousand pieces that day, and within minutes, his soul left for the Halls of Mandos, to join his brother in an eternal peace. 

How was this story known in such detail? Alas, because the brothers were not alone. Their younger sister had followed them, tagging along so that she could learn of where her brothers constantly traveled, always leaving her behind despite her whines and protests. She witnessed the entire hideous struggle, hidden high in the branches of a stout oak, but her terror would not permit her small body to move. After her two brothers departed from this world, she sprinted home, hysterical with fear and grief, to tell her parents of all that had happened. The mournful sadness that ensued proved to be too much for the young elf and her mother to bear, but because their bodies did not release their souls to depart for the Halls of Mandos, they instead sailed West. The oldest brother soon followed them, having heard the sea long ago, and not being able to handle both its calling and the grief that consumed him. Left behind were the two youngest brothers and a father to carry on with their lives and duties under the looming, heavy, relentless shadow of loneliness and sorrow, in addition to the strengthening one growing out of Barad-dur. 

***

Legolas did not expect to be recounting the innumerable Mirkwood tales when he began his tour of the palace with Aragorn.  But as he predicted, he had no control over the deluge of stories when he saw how sincerely interested Aragorn was in the map's illustrations. For reasons that could only be known by fate, Legolas felt the inexplicable and unyielding desire to teach the eager ranger all there was to know about Mirkwood and to share with him his people's experiences, both tragic and joyous.  Perhaps it was due to the way Aragorn immediately and wholly showed interest and concern about the fate of a people and home that was not even his own. The future king indeed was wise enough to see that whatever disease infects one corner of Middle Earth will soon spread until all the world is ailing and thus the struggles of one people could not disregarded.

Such a quality is rare among any race – to sympathize with the plights of other people of cultures alien to one's own. It is far easier for most to retreat into the comfort of a familiar, sheltered existence, denying that another's troubles could soon become theirs. Aragorn was part of the rare few who not only sympathized with another's troubles, but cared more about them than his own – regardless of whether those troubles belonged to an elf of Imladris or one of Mirkwood or a human of Gondor or one of Rohan. Aragorn did not have to think twice about sacrificing his own well-being if he thought that by doing so, he would be assuaging another people's woes.  Legolas sensed this and as a result, the Dunadan had secured the respect and admiration of the elf. _Whether he realizes it or not, fate has already determined he shall be king, for how else can one explain her decision to grant him with such a selfless soul, the elf thought__. _

After an hour, (or perhaps it was two or three? Aragorn did not know, for long ago had he lost track of time) Legolas described the last battle shown on the map and fell silent, his hands falling to his sides. "Thank you _mellonin_," Aragorn broke the silence reluctantly, not wishing to undo the enchantment generated by Legolas's stories. The elf looked up and smiled, not completely without sadness. He put away the map and strolled towards the door.

"Would you care to see the archery grounds now Aragorn?"

The ranger raised an eyebrow. "Need you even ask?"

***

"I should like to see how you fare with a bow and arrow.  I presume Elladan and Elrohir were your tutors – a shame of course, but perhaps despite their clumsy efforts, you gained an inkling of skill," Legolas said as the two emerged from the caverns into the late afternoon sun. 

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, but his mouth twitched. "I do not know how my skills compare to your own, Master Archer, but I assure you they are to be reckoned with. A sword however, is the weapon of choice for me."

"Yes, well one must resort to the sword when one does not have the skills to fend off the enemy from afar with his arrows."

"Or if one chooses to face his enemy in an ultimate contest of agility and wits," Aragorn pointed out.

"A foolish act of pride indeed, human." Legolas retorted. 

A smug smile developed on the rangers face. "I do believe, Master Elf of the woodland realm, that you are purposely belittling the skill and grace of a swordsman because you lack such skills with the sword yourself." 

Now Legolas turned, his eyebrows as high as they could reach into his forehead, as if Aragorn's statement were the most absurd, most incredulous, most utterly ridiculous thing he had ever heard in his thousands of years on Middle Earth.

"You know not what you speak of Master Ranger! My skills with the sword are unprecedented. I could slice off the tongue of a troll, the beard of a dwarf and the head of an orc before they even realized I had a sword in the first place!"

"I should like to see you prove it then," Aragorn goaded, his arms crossed against his chest, the smug smile still firmly in place. 

"You dare to challenge an elf to a duel then? You are most foolish human!  But I suppose that could be expected given your mentors. Well, then you shall have it, though I warn you, I will not suppress my skills for your own sake."

"Nor will I," Aragorn answered ominously.

The two locked eyes and though both tried to muster a threatening glare, neither could control the smile tugging at their lips. 

"I accept your challenge Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Immediately following our visit to the archery grounds, we shall see who possesses the greater swordsman skills – elf or human."

"It is agreed then, Legolas, son of Thanduil. I eagerly await this duel." At this, the two firmly shook hands, no longer pretending to hide their grins and they headed in the direction of the archery grounds.  

A short walk through a dense group of beeches, brought them to a large clearing. As they approached the clearing, voices, unaware of their approach, traveled toward them, along with the sound of arrows striking trees and targets, though apparently, not their intended targets…

"Sweet, dear Elbereth, what in the name of all that is good and decent in Middle Earth did you do _that for?! Are you blind? A troll could do better than that!" one exasperated male voice groaned angrily._

 "Prince Ciédron, please don't get mad, I thought I would get it that time… I do believe the target must have jumped out of the way of my arrow!" another voice, belonging to what sounded like a young girl nearly cried. 

"Jumped?! And I suppose the targets have been jumping and flying about all afternoon, the way you've been shooting! No, Alasse, they are not, but you are clearly too dense to listen to anything I teach you. How many times have I told you? Keep both eyes open when you aim! Do not blink, not for a second, and for Elbereth's sake, keep your eyes focused until the arrow strikes the target.  Now you will try again, doing exactly as I say," the first voice rose in fury.

"Again!? But Prince Ciédron you promised! You promised we would only practice until late afternoon! And look! The sky is pink with the setting sun! Soon the stars will peak out and the day will have been spent! I am so tired, Prince Ciédron, I do not think I could ever hit a target… Couldn't we just wait until tomorrow?" the young voice begged, on the verge of tears. 

"No! Your performance has been too awful today to quit now. We will practice until the stars and the moon come out!"

Legolas halted in his tracks and his eyes became slants. 

"Ai! That oaf! Listen to how that troll torments that poor girl. She will never hit the target with such a wicked, pigheaded, imbecile excuse for an elf abusing her and pontificating as if he is the king of all elves himself," he said through gritted teeth.

"He is rather harsh…" Aragorn was interrupted by a flood of curses as another arrow missed its target.

"Alasse!!! By orc and warg! All the ents in the world can read aloud the 20,000 annals of Gil-galad, before you even hit the proper_ tree_ on which the target was placed! Are you sure you are even an elf!? That is it! Forget the stars and moon! We are NOT leaving here until your arrow hits that target. "

Legolas's eyes widened. "And to think! Should the Valar forbid, anything happen to my father, _he will be king! We would be better off with a dwarf!"_

Aragorn was about to respond, but Legolas interrupted him and grasped his shoulder.

"Forgive me, but I must leave you for a bit. Stay here, and do not let yourself be seen – I don't want that orc to know of our presence." Legolas uttered these last words as he hopped up and grabbed a branch above him. A second later, the elf virtually disappeared in the branches, with only a small tremble in the leaves as he leaped from the first branch to one higher up. Aragorn sighed and decided to move closer to the field so that he could watch whatever it was Legolas had planned. 

On the archery ground stood two elves. So entrenched were they in their argument, their elven eyes did not catch the stealthy ranger calmly leaning against a tree, close to, though not quite at the border between the clearing and the wood. One looked remarkably similar to Legolas, so much so that Aragorn thought for a moment it was Legolas.  But when he studied him more carefully he saw that this one had a haughtier air about him, and his features were less youthful looking. He resembled Thranduil more so than Legolas in his forbidding, hardened stance. Immediately, Aragorn knew this must be Legolas's older brother. The other was a young elf girl, in human years looking no older than twelve. She trembled with a pent up rage and frustration and was currently pulling back her bow as Legolas's brother spouted orders.

Her arrow was released, gearing off far to the left of the target, clearly off course. But then there was a second _whoosh _as another arrow tore through the air from the surrounding trees, straight at the first arrow. In a move that seemed physically impossible, and had Aragorn not witnessed it he would not have believed it at all, the second arrow grazed the first, just enough so that its course altered and it perfectly hit the center of the target. 

Apparently Ciédron and Alasse could not believe it themselves. For both stood still as stone, with their mouths agape and their eyes practically bulging out of their heads.  But a second later, at once realizing the implications of what had just happened, Alasse danced and sung gleefully.

"It hit the target! My arrow hit the target, Prince Ciédron! We can stop now, just as you said! My arrow struck the target so now we could put to rest this endless lesson!" She was about to run off, when Ciédron bellowed. 

"The lesson is not over! You did not hit the target! Your arrow… that other arrow…." Ciédron stuttered, still stunned by what just happened, though he had a hunch from whom the second arrow came from. "Let's just see if you could hit that target again!" 

Alasse's mouth quivered, but she obediently raised her bow and let fly another arrow. Again, there was another _whoosh _and her arrow was redirected, striking the target so perfectly, it split the first arrow.

Aragorn by now had made his way to the edge of the wood, in clear view of the two elves, though neither noticed him. He was too astonished to remember Legolas's urging to remain hidden.  In fact, for a moment, Aragorn even believed he was hallucinating. How could anyone shoot an arrow so swiftly and accurately as to anticipate the path of another wayward arrow and on top of that, _graze _that arrow at an angle so perfectly it actually changed its course and hit an intended target? To Aragorn this seemed to go against every known law of nature. 

Ciédron was less impressed. In a very un-elfish manner, he stomped over to the base of one of the trees where the shooter must have been hidden.  A second later, he was in the branches, out of sight of both Aragorn and Alasse.  

A few quiet moments passed during which birds chirped and a light breeze tickled the air.  Aragorn crossed his arms and leaned again against the trunk, waiting patiently for what he predicted would be quite an altercation. No doubt the amusement Gandalf had alluded to was about to commence. Alasse watched the trees as well, though much more anxiously than Aragorn. She then decided to take advantage of this opportunity to escape her lesson, and she swiftly ran off. 

As Aragorn predicted, after a couple of peaceful minutes a loud scuffle erupted in the branches. The entire tree shook violently and some strangled curses escaped through the rustling of branches. Then the scuffle seemed to bounce from one tree to another, causing each one to sway and shake tremendously. A shower of leaves and acorns fell and birds scattered throughout the air while squirrels scurried away on the ground, escaping the violence overtaking their homes.  

Aragorn cocked an eyebrow when one of the elves actually fell out of the tree, though like a cat, he still managed to land on his feet. Legolas brusquely brushed himself off before looking up to watch his brother jump down from the tree after him.  Both elves were rather disheveled, even by Aragorn's standards. Their clothes were ripped and stained and their straight hair was tousled in a nest of knots and leaves.  Dirt streaked their scratched cheeks and their hands. For a moment, all was silent as the two elves glowered at each other. They then lunged at each other and collapsed ungracefully to the ground as they wrestled and yelled. Though most of it was incomprehensible, Aragorn caught snippets of the angry elvish screams.

"You irresponsible fool! How dare you!"

"A fool am I? Well you are a thickheaded cross breed of a troll and an orc!"

As the fighting continued, Aragorn debated whether he should perhaps step in and stop it. But breaking up fights was never one of Aragorn's favorite pastimes. Many times had he attempted to do so with Elladan and Elrohir only to find himself tousled and thrown about, with a host of cuts and bruises to reward his efforts. Luckily for Aragorn, just as he was about to risk his neck to pull apart the two brothers, they stopped of their own accord.

Panting, they continued to glare at each other. 

"Legolas, you idiot, you may think you are helping her, but you only hurt her by interrupting her lesson like that and you know it." Ciédron seethed, his face absolutely livid.

"Do you really think she was going to learn anything the way you were abusing her? You could not teach a hobbit to eat you are so intolerant and mean spirited!" 

Ciédron's eyes flashed and he growled at his younger brother. "Father will surely not be pleased with your actions today Legolas…"

Legolas's eyes widened at this. "Nay Ciédron you coward! I cannot believe you would tell father! Why bring him into this, you know he has enough to worry about!"

"Aye, he does! Including the safety of his people, and I highly doubt he will be pleased to learn you are preventing them from learning to protect themselves!"

Legolas's mouth dropped open at this train of logic. "Well I am sure he will not be pleased to learn how abusive you are to your pupils!"

The two stared fiercely at each other, testing each other's wills.  Aragorn mentally counted down. _Three.._._Two…One…_

On cue, the brothers bolted towards the palace, racing to get to Thranduil before the other.  Aragorn grinned. 

The ranger then casually followed the sprinting elves, eager to witness Thranduil's reaction to all of this.

TBC

_Phew ok, that's it for now…. Coming soon – a very angry king and a duel…_


	4. Memories and Punishments

A/N Yay! I got reviews again! It amazes me people can actually find this buried within all those thousands of stories. Oh, but I'm so glad you did- reviews are so exciting ;) Thank you Thank you Thank you

I think I forgot to do this for the last chapter… Well… they weren't mine then, not mine now.

**Memories and Punishments**

"This is most disconcerting…most disconcerting indeed….a most perplex situation…. The ring… the sea…perhaps it didn't? No, no, no… that is preposterous… Saruman… no… why would he?...hmmm… hmph…hmmm……indeed, this is quite a quandary, quite a quandary indeed…"

Thranduil lazily watched as Gandalf paced one way, stopped to gaze at a towering tree as if it perhaps could answer the puzzles in his mind, then turned around, mumbling under his breath, "no, no, no no… that cannot be…" as if the ancient tree had actually answered him. The wizard would then absently stroll to another tree only to find that it too could not supply a suitable solution. 

The king heaved a great sigh. Unlike Gandalf, who was currently so engrossed in his musings that he did not notice the red sticky liquid spilling onto his robes as he distractedly stroked his beard with the same hand he was holding his goblet with, Thranduil could not focus his mind on the shadow that lay before them. No matter how the noble elf tried, one thought kept creeping back into his restless mind.  Legolas. 

Deep in his heart Thranduil always knew everything Gandalf had told him – that Legolas's fate awaited him outside the borders of Mirkwood.  But how he dreaded the day he would have to watch his son depart from his home into a terrifying, unknown darkness. To hold him back would be cruel – Thranduil knew this – but was it not just as cruel to knowingly send his son out into a world, into a life, that would inevitably be rife with pain, suffering, and infinite grief? Could a father ever face a more dreadful choice? 

His thoughts wandered to Maegren and Feáner, two of his older sons who now dwelled in the Halls of Mandos. How his heart clenched whenever he thought of them and that day, that awful day when Eilesiá, his anguished daughter, had burst frantically through the heavy oak doors, interrupting Thranduil and his wife in their singing and dancing in celebration of Lasse-lanta.* 

Eilesiá, pale as sea foam, trembled violently from the terror she just witnessed. _Ada__, oh ada, it is awful….I did nothing, ada, it is my fault, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry… I did nothing…  Her words were barely comprehensible as she fell into her father's arms. _

Horrible grief, guilt, and anger that he never felt before ripped Thranduil apart when he heard the wretched girl's tale of how his sons died in a struggle against some dark, hooded creature. His wife collapsed, shrieking and crying uncontrollably. And his daughter… his poor daughter…. To watch such an awful fate befall her own brothers! The great king quivered with relief that he had not lost her too.  But Thranduil's relief was misguided. For Eilesiá too was lost that day.

The king's young daughter never forgave herself for hiding idly in a tree as her brothers desperately struggled to their deaths. She suffered horribly as she denied herself food, drink and pleasure of any sort. Often Thranduil would find her, perched in a weeping tree staring at nothing in particular for hours at a time, her eyes dull and lifeless, her form emaciated. The only noise she made were the melancholy laments devoted to Maegren and Feáner.  The king's heartbroken wife hardly fared better. 

'_How cruel it is that I cannot join them! Why must this cursed body trap me here in this horrible, suffocating world!' _she once sobbed into Thranduil's arms. 

It was then Thranduil knew what had to be done.  If his wife and daughter spent any more time in Middle Earth, they would surely die of the grief that consumed them. So he sent them to the havens, where perhaps they could finally find some peace. 

Years later, Thranduil's heart was buoyed to see his oldest son, Orophmin, return safely home from his travels throughout Middle Earth. Ai, but that too was a short lived joy. For Orophmin had heard the sea, and he yearned to sail West. When he heard the fate of his two younger brothers, his sister, and his mother, he could not quell his heart's desires and so he too journeyed to the Gray Havens. Today, Legolas and Ciédron were all Thranduil had left.  The thought of parting with either of them tortured his already grief-stricken soul.

_'No, do not think of that day now… What happened to them will not happen to Legolas…,' _the king shook his fair head in an attempt to erase the memories. 

Just when Thranduil feared he would be lost in a wave of haunting elven reveries, a "hmph" from Gandalf awoke him – apparently a tree had finally provided the flummoxed wizard with a favorable solution.

"Well then, I see, that is what must be done then. We can do little else otherwise after all," the old wizard muttered to no one in particular.

Thranduil gazed up at Gandalf. "What is it that must be done Mithrandir?"

Gandalf jumped, stunned to find that he was in the company of another being besides the birches.  Remembering he was in the grand hall of the wood elf king, not the enchanted forests of Imladris or the secluded, safe woods of the Shire, he slackened and returned to his mumblings and pacing.  Thranduil raised an eyebrow at this, but decided to spare Gandalf his impatient temper for now.  _The wizard will speak when he wishes_… _He always does so anyway, and never any sooner._

Finally, Gandalf halted in front of a gleaming white birch, and as if realizing it was Thranduil he should be speaking to, not the king's birches, he turned and faced the elf.

"Thranduil, we do not know enough yet. We must - "

**_*_****CRASH_*_**

Before Gandalf could finish, he was rudely interrupted by the slamming of two heavy oak doors against the wall as they flew open and a mussed up elf madly dashed into the throne room. A flutter of leaves rained around them as the birches trembled in the doors' wake. Thranduil jolted out of his seat and Gandalf stiffened as he grasped tightly to his staff. 

"By the Valar! Legolas, what cursed mayhem has driven you here in such a state??" Thranduil fought the panic rising in his voice. His heart was now hammering rapidly in his chest. 

As Legolas caught his breath, he managed to gasp out, "Ciédron…," but before he could finish, Thranduil let out a soft cry.

"Ciédron! Dear Elbereth, what happened to him? Legolas speak to me!" Thranduil was not sure if it was possible for elves to have a heart attack, but if it was not, surely he would be the first to prove such a theory wrong. _Ai! How much could one elf take!_

Another ***CRASH***, another flutter of leaves, and another tousled, fair-haired elf violently bursting through the doors answered Thranduil's question about Ciédron.

The king's eyes, slightly perplexed, but still laden with concern, snapped up from one panting, slightly frightened son to the other rather _incensed_ son as once more the doors swung open. This time, a surprisingly _unruffled_, composed ranger strolled in and leaned casually against a birch, looking rather amused at the scene about to unfold before him.  

Ciédron did not notice Aragorn though, and seemed not to notice even his father or Gandalf as he swiftly leapt and tackled Legolas to the ground. A fierce struggle erupted as a tangle of arms and legs punched, kicked and pulled viciously before Thranduil's disbelieving eyes. 

The king's worry drained rapidly only to be replaced by a gush of fury. As if they were choreographed, Thranduil and Gandalf simultaneously turned their heads from one elf to the other while each took their turn attacking. Even the trees seemed to quake in unison. Aragorn, having already witnessed the exact same fight out in the archery fields, entertained himself by watching as a vein in Thranduil's forehead throbbed aggressively. A dark fire raged in the elf's bright eyes and his mouth tightened into a thin line. His knuckles were white from choking the arms on his chair and the idea occurred to Aragorn that the king was probably imagining each arm to be his sons' necks.  Gandalf slowly lowered himself to his seat, surreptitiously winking at Aragorn. 

The elf king allowed his sons to have it out for a few more minutes when he finally, with a bellow that caused the entire palace, perhaps all of Mirkwood to shake, ended it. 

**"FOR THE LOVE OF Manwë, Ulmo, Aulë, Oromë, Mandos, Lórien and Tulkas, THAT IS ENOUGH!!"**

Legolas and Ciédron, suddenly realizing where they were and worse, in whose company they were in, stopped cold. They dropped their hands, slowly straightened themselves to a standing position and reluctantly raised their heads to meet Thranduil's livid glare.  Legolas cringed at the sight of his father's pulsating vein and Ciédron squirmed uncomfortably as he noticed how the king's hands were wringing the arms on his chair.  He immediately berated himself for suggesting he would tell Thranduil in the first place about how Legolas sabotaged his lesson. 

Legolas bit his lip. _Here it comes. Ai, I wonder if I will ever be able to hear the song of Ilúvatar again after _Ada___ has finished yelling at us. He anxiously waited for Thranduil to commence his tirade, which would surely be quite extensive after the show he and Ciédron put on in front of both the great Istari and the future King of Gondor. _

_Perhaps this one will be even longer than the one I got when Elladan, Elrohir and I replaced Ciédron's horse with a twenty year old mule the day of his great hunting trip…. Or when we replaced the furniture in the council room with hobbit sized tables and chairs before Ciédron had to take __Ada__'s__ place at a meeting …Or when I released one of those dwarfs from our dungeon and told him he could sleep in Ciédron's bed… _

Legolas suppressed a smile as he remembered Ciédron's stunned reactions upon discovering a putrid smelling mule in place of his magnificent steed, trying to explain to the Lake-town delegation why the elves had such tiny furniture, and when he laid down in his bed to find a snoring dwarf sleeping comfortably beside him.  Now he could add Alasse miraculously striking the target with some help from above, to that list.  Of course he thought Thranduil would surely throw him into the dungeons each time he pulled one of these pranks, but it was almost worth it just to see Ciédron's bewildered face… 

_Almost _worth it… Legolas looked up again at Thranduil, wondering why he had not yet started to castigate them.  Thranduil's vein seemed to be receding somewhat now, though the conflagration in his eyes still burned forcefully.  Then, much to Legolas's surprise, the seething king reclined into the chair and rested his forehead in his hands. For the first time, Legolas noticed how_ tired _his father looked and a pang of guilt tugged at his heart. 

But the sound of Ciédron's lofty voice doused whatever flame of guilt that might have flickered inside Legolas. 

"Adar, if you would please allow me to explain…"

"Ciédron, I will listen to your _explanations when I am ready to," Thranduil snapped, not lifting his head from his hands.  The pain in his heart had transferred itself to his stomach, and Thranduil now wondered if an elf could develop an ulcer_. I dare whoever claims they cannot to live a week with these two. __

Several long, torturous moments passed while Thranduil regained his calm.  Gandalf cleared his throat several times, Legolas and Ciédron, too terrified to utter a single word, seemed to be very interested in their feet and Aragorn continued leaning against the tree though he shifted uneasily in the awkward silence that enveloped them.

At last Thranduil lifted his head. "All right then…" he paused to let out a heavy sigh. Then his leaden voice continued. "Legolas, since you so _honorably arrived here first, please enlighten us with your explanation as to why you thought a wrestling match would be an appropriate greeting for the Istari, heir to Gondor, and myself this evening." _

The band that held Legolas's tongue snapped and like an erupting volcano, a rapid spew of elvish flowed from his mouth. He spoke so quickly, it was difficult for Aragorn to weave together what he was saying. He could only make out a few words  -  

"…. show Aragorn …archery fields when that orc …that oaf.. that dwarf…. absolutely treacherous… so abusive! Alasse….cry… then that troll… disgraceful! I wanted to help…" 

Gandalf raised his eyebrows, looking quite impressed that one could say so much in so little time.  Thranduil merely nodded inattentively, much like a theatergoer who has seen the same act performed one too many times, and was now rather bored with the entire play. 

When Legolas stopped, Thranduil elegantly gestured to Ciédron. "Ciédron? Please, do share your side of the story now, for I am most eager to hear why you, as a first-born over 3,000 years old, and crown prince of this kingdom, decided a roll in the dirt was long overdue, along with a good, solid, warg-like tackle of your brother."

Now it was Ciédron's turn to ramble on even more than Legolas had in yet a shorter amount of time. 

"Alasse was practicing diligently finally beginning to pick up some skills when that spoiled little braggart stupidly decided to idiotically hop around those poor tortured trees and childishly sneak up on me and foolishly sabotage my intricately planned lesson by thoughtlessly shooting his arrows irresponsibly and obnoxiously, pointlessly striking Alasse's arrows to absurdly redirect them to the target thus selfishly denying Alasse any opportunity to learn to protect herself from an attacking orc, or a disgruntled troll, or an angry warg, or or or…. Or a bear!"

Gandalf's eyebrows shot up even higher at this. _Elvish__ certainly is a funny language when one hears it spoken so rapidly and incoherently…_

By now, Thranduil was leaning back calmly in his seat, his chin resting comfortably on his ringed hand.  He regarded his sons with a mixture of irritation and slight amusement. "I see… Well, thank you for clearing that up so eloquently…" he mocked. 

The king leaned forward in his chair, fury slowly reigniting in his eyes, and he continued, his voice a terrible hiss.  

"Never has my time and energy been so wasted. Are you blind to what is happening around you? To what Mirkwood is facing?!?!?"__

Thranduil's cold glare rested first on Ciédron who quickly averted his gaze, his face as red as the wood elves' wine. 

Then Thranduil unleashed his glare on Legolas. He was slightly taken aback when the younger elf remained poised, calmly accepting the King's glare with his own resolute stare. Thranduil marveled at this and realized – Legolas had no regrets about his actions.

_Such is the difference between the two of them. They are both impulsive, but Ciédron allows his heated emotions to get the better of him, whereas Legolas, though perhaps acting on impulse, is always aware exactly of what he is doing and what the consequences will be. He knew he would be punished tonight and he made the choice long ago that that would be a payoff. Ciédron is only just realizing the consequences of his actions. Alas, I fear he has inherited my brash temper. _

Ciédron was indeed only now realizing how irrationally he had acted.  _What came over me? _His thoughts swam about confusedly in his head as he desperately tried to collect himself.  Why had he overreacted like that? There was certainly no need to attack his brother–not that Legolas did not deserve it, no Ciédron definitely felt his brother deserved a good tackle.  But he, as the crown prince, should know better than to act so recklessly. He could have ignored Legolas, ended the lesson (for he was bound to give up on Alasse soon anyway), and spoken calmly to his father about it later. _Aye, that would have been the proper way for a crown prince to handle this situation._

But alas! How Legolas infuriated him! _He is a regular prodigy, yes, of course, we are all aware of that, but must he always show me up like that? And truly, I do not believe he realizes the gravity of our situation… I was not yelling at Alasse to hurt her, but she must learn to protect herself – right now she could not save herself from a possessed bunny, let alone an orc or spider.  Does he not realize the danger we are all in? Has he forgotten what happened to Maegren and Feáner?_

Ciédron cringed at this last thought, knowing how unfair it was.  Legolas would never forget what happened to Maegren and Feáner. None of them ever would.

Thranduil's booming voice pervaded the room, startling Ciédron.  "It is ridiculous that I must still punish you, when the both of you are fully-grown elves. But then again your actions are ridiculous, so a punishment would be most fitting."

A small smile crept onto Thranduil's strained face. It was rather sadistic, but he got such pleasure out of punishing his sons for his punishments were, more often than not, rather amusing. Thranduil never believed in the traditional sending of one's children to their rooms, or denying them dessert or play. Oh no… He preferred much more creative punishments… much more _useful ones. _

Thranduil eyed his empty goblet. He then picked it up and studied it thoughtfully, chuckling softly to himself. His eyes then met Ciédron's. 

"Ciédron, I'm afraid we are running awfully low on the Lake-men's wine…"

Ciédron was rather baffled by this change of subject. _Does he intend to punish me then by sending me to Lake-town? Well that's not bad… that's not bad at all…. _Ciédron voiced his question.

"You wish me to lead a delegation to Lake-town to negotiate an increase in our wine imports?"

Thranduil's smirk widened to a hungry, tiger-like grin. 

"No Ciédron, I, do not want you to trade for more wine… I want you to _make_ more wine." 

Ciédron's blue eyes widened considerably and he stuttered, aghast at what his ears were absorbing.

"Make? But…. How… I… don't we? I mean…" 

"Grapes? Yes, do not worry Ciédron, we have plenty of those. About a hundred barrels full. I believe in fact Mignorean has already emptied out the barrels so the grapes are ready for crushing. You needn't worry about that. They are ripe and waiting to be stomped upon." 

Ciédron now looked as if he would collapse in shock. 

"You want me to _stomp_?!?"

"Yes, Ciédron, I think stomping grapes would be a far better mechanism for releasing your anger than dismembering your brother." Thranduil smiled warmly at his bewildered son and then turned to Legolas.  

Legolas's punishment, Thranduil thought regretfully, would not be as fun as Ciédron's, but it was the most obvious and logical one.

"Legolas, as for you, since you cut Alasse's lesson short, you will continue tomorrow where Ciédron left off. And you will not cease the lesson until Alasse herself shoots an arrow that strikes the target, unaided by any other arrows, knives, rocks, birds, twigs, acorns…" (a *hmph* from Gandalf accompanied this) "…or any other projectiles you may have in mind." 

Utter shock and alarm painted Legolas's face, much to Thranduil's surprise_. By Elbereth, this punishment is not so bad… At least his feet will not be stained purple until the next full moon…And no doubt he probably deserves a worse punishment than his brother!_

"Ada! You cannot be serious! All of Middle Earth will fade before Alasse hits the target! The stars too will die out, the moon will retire, and the dwarves will have leveled all the mountains! Couldn't I just teach her until sunset?"

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. _Perhaps this will be fun after all. _

"No Legolas, until she hits the target. I am sure an accomplished archer such as yourself can beat the setting moon and the erosion of the mountains in teaching a young elf to shoot. Do not argue with me anymore or else I will change it to two targets. With two arrows. At the same time."

Legolas clamped his mouth shut. 

"Well, now that we have cleared up this ahem… _misunderstanding, here…" a familiar voice perked up. Gandalf cleared his throat and smiled at the three elves. "Prince Ciédron, I don't believe you have become acquainted yet with Lord Elrond's son, Aragorn, son of Arathorn." _

Ciédron stiffened and turned slowly to face the ranger, who bowed respectfully to the elf.  Considering the leaves dotting his hair, and the order he just received to stomp grapes for his father, Ciédron found it hard to believe the ranger was not mocking his status. But if he was, he hid it well and so Ciédron, in an attempt to regain at least some amount of dignity, returned the bow.

"It is an honor, Lord Aragorn. Forgive me for not noticing your presence earlier. I'm afraid I was rather preoccupied…" He frowned and glanced at his father who gazed smugly at Ciédron. "If you would excuse me now… I have some… business I must attend to…" With his head held high, Ciédron strode proudly out of the throne room. Despite the occurrences of the past hour, the prince did manage to once again hold himself haughtily and gracefully (though his cheeks were still rather flushed). 

Thranduil's smile faded as he watched Ciédron exit the room. Perhaps he was too hard on his older son._ He did seem rather embarrassed. But he brought it upon himself – Legolas is a scamp, but Ciédron should know that by now and making a scene like he just did is no way to handle him – he only brings shame upon himself. He must learn to control his temper, or else he will make the same mistakes that I already have…_

 As for Legolas…. Thranduil sighed. _If only he would put his wits and talent to something more useful. _Thranduil stiffened at this thought and noticed the wizard was observing him closely, a strange, knowing look in his eyes, as if he had just peered into his mind.  The king held his gaze. 

Gandalf then stood up and made a show of yawning. 

"Well, King Thranduil, as usual, this has been a most interesting day here.  But I believe the weariness of my journey has caught up with me. I am sure Aragorn is quite exhausted himself, though he will never admit it… If you don't mind…"

"Not at all, Mithrandir- Helione will show both of you to your rooms, and bring you some food and drink as well if you wish," Thranduil hastily offered and again, a servant materialized out of the shadows.   

Gandalf and Aragorn followed the servant out of the room. As they passed Legolas, the wizard winked and the ranger nodded and smiled gratefully. But before they could leave the room, Thranduil stopped them.

"Wait! Mithrandir, what was it you were going to say before? About what we must do?" he asked, not caring that Aragron and Legolas were now present. 

The Istari turned and looked as if he were trying to remember something. "Ah yes…" he answered at last. "What must be done… well what must be done, need not be done just now, Thranduil. I do believe we can wait until morning, when we are all well rested. I believe we have suffered enough troubles for one day." 

And with that the wizard left the room, with Aragorn and the servant close behind, before Thranduil even had the chance to press him further.

When the doors gently shut, silence engulfed the king and the throne room suddenly felt too big, while Thranduil himself felt rather small. Whereas the birches before seemed to shine with an ethereal glow, they now cast haunting, formidable shadows in the flickering torchlight, reminding Thranduil of how miniscule and insignificant he was when compared to the great trees that began to grow long before the first elves set foot on Middle Earth.  He collapsed again into his seat, seemingly unaware that Legolas had not yet left.  

Legolas again felt a pang of guilt as he watched his weary father fall into his chair. 

"Ada?" 

Thranduil looked up tiredly at his son, though his fury was now completely obliterated from his voice. Only weariness now laced his words. "Yes Legolas?"

Legolas hesitated and put his hand on one of the trees, searching for support. "Ada, I am sorry.  I am not blind to what Mirkwood is now facing. I know how you have lost countless nights of sleep over it, how worry constantly holds your heart hostage. It plagues my heart as well, Ada.  I feel the darkness surround us and it clouds my senses with ill omens. I know…." Legolas removed his hand from the tree and furrowed his brows slightly as he focused on his father. "I know it is not always apparent that I am sensitive to Mirkwood's ailments and I am sorry for that.  But I swear to you Ada, I will do all that is within my power to help Mirkwood… to help Middle Earth. I will fight for her Ada. I promise you, I will." 

Thranduil gazed at his son intently as Gandalf's words echoed in his mind. _If our children can retain but a bit of their mirth even into their adult years, it is a blessing indeed. _

"Legolas, there is no need to apologize for not permitting the darkness of Middle Earth overtake you. I know you are not blind to it. I know how it haunts you. And I know you will make me proud one day by fighting against it, my son. You need not promise me the inevitable." 

As he was speaking, Thranduil had risen out of his seat and walked towards Legolas so that they now stood face to face.  In a rare gesture of tenderness, Thranduil raised his hand to his son's cheek and spoke softly. 

"It is your spirit I wish for you to promise me, Legolas. Do not ever allow darkness to drive out its song. If you promise me anything Legolas, promise me that. That you will never lose hope for a world that is better than this, not even in the darkest of battles, when all seems lost, don't ever stop believing in a world that ought to be. It will ultimately be the light inside you that will save Mirkwood, not your bow and arrow." 

Thranduil's hand dropped to Legolas's shoulder and he could not help releasing a small chuckle.

"Though with the shooting skills Ciédron described to me today, perhaps I ought to place a higher wager on your bow." 

Legolas smiled warily at this while Thranduil's face grew somber.

"You know why he is like this Legolas, don't you? He aches terribly for your brothers and sister and mother…"

Legolas gaped at Thranduil, "Ada! I do also!"

"Yes, of course Legolas, but you do not carry with you the same anger he does. Yet, he would sacrifice ten years' worth of sleep to train every Alasse in this wood to protect herself against evil. I know he is harsh…"

"Ada, you have no idea! The things he was saying…."

"…but he means well, Legolas." Thranduil firmly finished, hardening his stare at his son.  

Legolas knew this was a futile battle and deep inside, he also knew Thranduil was right about his brother. So he stopped and instead let out a sigh. 

"You should get some rest now, my son. If Alasse is half as bad as you and Ciédron seem to believe she is, you will need it."

Legolas nodded, grimacing slightly as he remembered his daunting task for tomorrow. "Promise me you will sleep also, Ada."

Thranduil gazed sadly at his son. "I will try, but I cannot promise what I cannot be certain to deliver. Goodnight Legolas."

Legolas worriedly looked at his father and turned to leave. "Goodnight Ada."

***

"Gandalf?" 

Aragorn nudged the wizard gently to get his attention after the servant had led them to their neighboring rooms.  Gandalf immediately stirred from his reverie and his head snapped up at the ranger who had followed him into his room.

"What? Ohhh… Aragorn, yes, I'm sorry, I fear I'm rather preoccupied…

"Gandalf, what news did King Thranduil have? What was it he was speaking of when he asked you what had to be done?"  Aragorn placed his hand on the wizard's shoulder, concern coloring his eyes for the worried Istari.

"Ah, Aragorn, I will reveal all to you in due time, that I promise… But for now, I wish only to rest. There is much to discuss, and much to think about. Be grateful I am giving you one more night of blissful ignorance."

Aragorn frowned. "Only a fool is happy to be ignorant, Gandalf."

"Then be a happy fool for one night Aragorn. For I promise you, such an opportunity will never arise again in your lifetime. Good night." 

Knowing the wizard would not budge, Aragorn reluctantly wished him goodnight and retired to his room in hope that the morning would provide more answers.

***

Aragorn awoke early the next morning – if you could really call it waking, since he hardly fell asleep in the first place, so restless was his mind.  Unfortunately for the ranger's exhausted body he was no fool, and could not happily ignore the events unfolding around him. 

As he sat up in his bed, listlessly sharpening his knife, he pondered the previous day's events, from his first step into the shadows of Mirkwood, to the final 'battle' between Legolas and Ciédron.  Thranduil's tired eyes, the map of Mirkwood, songs of Oropher, Legolas's story about the two brothers, Ciédron and Alasse staring in shock at the miraculous arrow…. Like a crowded picture show, one image after another occupied his thoughts, accompanied by Gandalf's previous words as they began their journey to Mirkwood. 

_You will find the Mirkwood elves to be intriguing creatures Aragorn.  Unlike the Imladris elves, they are hard and suspicious, yet many still retain the levity and inner light innate in all elves.  Perhaps you will even find an elven archer to travel with – they are most useful companions, I assure you. _

_But that is not the main reason we journey here, Aragorn.  I fear much of Middle Earth has grown complacent about the shadow because, with a few exceptions, most have remained for now relatively sheltered. But not Mirkwood. She is like a wind gauge. Through her we can estimate the power and growth of the shadow. Too many wish to simply close their eyes to Mirkwood's bane and hope it will remain there and not spread. This is a grave mistake…_

With one last swipe, Aragorn completed his sharpening and held his knife up to the light, examining the glistening blade thoughtfully. _Indeed, it is a grave mistake Gandalf, but not one I will make – that is a promise. _

A loud knock on the door startled Aragorn from his thoughts and he swiftly replaced his knife into its sheath. 

"Come in."

"Ah, good you are awake. You will join Thranduil and I for breakfast then?" the wizard cheerfully offered, his face revealing naught of the hours he spent pacing in his own room, muttering, and denying himself rest. 

"I would be honored to, Gandalf."

An array of fruits, sweet breads, juices, and one sleep deprived king awaited the wizard and ranger at the long ebony table in the elves' dining area.  

"Good morning, you slept well I hope?" the king greeted politely.

"Aye." Gandalf and Aragorn both lied.  

"Hmm… As well as I have, I see." Thranduil responded under his breath, not one to easily believe any lie. "Legolas is on the archery grounds and Ciédron is out in the winery, so they will not be joining us now."

"They accepted their punishments then?" Gandalf grinned as he poured himself tea.

Thranduil shrugged. "They would be fools not to, for I do believe I let them off easy this time. But Mithrandir, let us move straight to more pertinent problems, besides my vexatious sons. You said it would be better to discuss this when we are well rested, but clearly none of us will rest _until we have discussed this, so your suggestion is a rather futile one, don't you think?" Thranduil's firm, eloquent voice offered little room for any argument.  _

Gandalf sighed, carefully setting down his tea cup. "Aye, I suppose it is…"

Thranduil cocked an eyebrow and his blue eyes darted to Aragorn. "And I am sure you did not only bring the ranger along for tours either?" 

Aragorn stiffened. It was the first time since their initial meeting that Thranduil acknowledged his presence as something more than just another guest of a guest. 

"Aye, King Thranduil. I am not only here for tours," he decided to answer on his own behalf before Gandalf could. 

Thranduil nodded and leaned back in his seat. He put his hands together in front of him in an indication he was ready and waiting for Gandalf to speak. 

Gandalf, exuding in his own inexplicable way as much nobility as Thranduil, took his time before answering the royal elf's unspoken demand.  After a slow sip of his steaming tea, he licked his lips, gazed musingly at Aragorn and Thranduil, and set down his cup. 

"Thranduil, I have thought much about what you have related to me." The wizard's voice, before cheerful, but aged, now commandingly projected across the entire room. He quickly turned to Aragorn to briefly update him on his and Thranduil's discussion. 

"Aragorn, the Nazgul have reoccupied Dol Guldur. In the battle against the ever strengthening shadow that trails them, elves are disappearing. We know not for sure what Sauron knows about the ring, though Saruman tells us it has passed to the sea. We only know that Sauron continues to search, and despite his failure to retrieve the One Ring, his power continues to swell… perhaps he is even breeding more to join with him…"

At this Aragorn squared his shoulders and leaned forward, placing down his fork, a slice of plum still dangling on its teeth.

"_Breeding more_ Gandalf?" the ranger's voice was soft, but unflinching.

Thranduil answered. "Many elves have disappeared as of late with the return of the Nazgul. You know how the orcs were first bred, I assume Master Ranger. It should not surprise you if Sauron wished to expand his control over living creatures by continuing with such foul methods of increasing his minions." 

"You believe Sauron is breeding an army then?" Aragorn pressed.

Gandalf looked sternly at Aragorn. "We did not say army, Aragorn."

Thranduil did not respond to Aragorn's assertion, but turned his eyes to Gandalf. "Think you it could be the Necromancer again?" he asked suddenly. 

The Istari and elf lords had once before mistook the Necromancer as one of the Nazgul the first time Dol Guldur was occupied in 1100 in the Third Age, around the same time Thranduil's sons had died. Gandalf had discovered the Necromancer, a black magician with power over the spirits of the dead, was actually Sauron himself. Now Gandalf hesitated before answering Thranduil. The same thought had of course already crossed his mind.

"It is not _the_ Necromancer, I am certain Thranduil, for Sauron has taken refuge in Barad-dur. But _a_ necromancer is certainly possible…One would certainly be most helpful in controlling the spirits of murdered elves for Sauron's purposes, if that is in fact what has happened to those missing from your realm. In that case, they may not necessarily be used to breed orcs … Or perhaps they are being used to breed a new creature…" Gandalf debated to himself.  
  


Aragorn shifted. "It appears little is known for certain, Gandalf," he spoke up heavily. "All we know is that Dol Guldur is reoccupied by Nazgul and Sauron has reoccupied Barad-dur. Everything else is merely hypothesis."

"And the ring has passed over the sea…" Gandalf added.

Aragorn surprised the wizard with a steely look. "We do not know that for certain Gandalf.  We only base that on the word of another."

Gandalf's eyebrows shot up at Aragorn's boldness. "But that other is Saruman the White Aragorn…"

"Aye, and I do not believe even a wizard is infallible. He may be mistaken – perhaps it is not probable, but it is not impossible and thus we cannot say we know for certain his words are fact," Aragorn reasoned. 

Thranduil added, "And regardless of whether Saruman is correct or not, we know Sauron is strengthening."

Gandalf nodded slowly, pondering Aragorn's words. "Yes Aragorn, you are correct. For all our talk, we actually know very little about these recent dire events. Thus there is only one thing we can and must do, which I was going to suggest to Lord Thranduil last night, though now I propose it as more than a suggestion. We must seek the answers to these dark puzzles ourselves, before they come to us, for no doubt by the time they do, our fates will be grimly sealed.  This means exploring all areas of Mirkwood, including Dol Guldur."

Gandalf cleared his throat and continued. "Thranduil, I brought Aragorn because as you can see, as Lord of the Dunadain, no other is better suited for such a task." Gandalf rested his eyes on Aragorn. "Aragorn, if you would allow me, I request that you scout the area around Dol Guldur and other parts of the forest that have succumbed to the shadow in an attempt to ascertain what exactly it is we are facing."

"Gandalf, you need not ask me. I will do it." Aragorn quickly agreed.

Gandalf nodded and turned again to Thranduil. "I was also hoping that Aragorn would find a companion within your realm Thranduil, for it seems obvious that a wood elf should accompany him on such a task…"

Thranduil stiffened in his chair. His face tightened and paled slightly. "Aye, Gandalf… of course…" 

Gandalf held up his hand and shook his head, not allowing the king to finish.  "Nay Thranduil, I wish for Aragorn to choose his own companion. It will be some days now before he should set off, so he will have some time to get to know a few of the warriors here." 

Thranduil relaxed slightly. "Of course… Well, Aragorn, Mirkwood hosts some of the finest archers in Middle Earth. You will not suffer from lack of choices, I assure you."

Aragorn smiled faintly. "I do not doubt your word, King Thranduil."

"Very well then. It is settled, for now at least.  Now if you would excuse me, I should like to utilize the wood elves' library, if that is all right with you King Thranduil," the wizard said as he rose from his seat.

"Help yourself Mithrandir. You know you need not ask. I have some meetings myself I must attend right now. Aragorn, our palace is your home.  Explore or rest as you wish. There will be a feast tonight in honor of yourself and Mithrandir," Thranduil bowed slightly in response to Aragorn's own and followed the wizard out of the room.

Aragorn smirked to himself when he was left alone in the room. _So 'perhaps you will find an elven companion' has turned into 'you will choose an elven companion.' How like Gandalf to spring this on me…_ He shook his head and decided to observe how Legolas's archery lesson was faring. 

TBC

* The Season of Falling Leaves or Autumn (thank you Encyclopedia of Arda) 

Ack! Ok, I know this isn't the best place to end this chapter, especially when I promised a duel…But that will definitely come very soon, promise!  But after that, I think I should stop hinting at the next chapters because I always seem to get caught up in something else & not getting to what I actually said I would write about….sigh, such a flighty mind I have.  


	5. Crushed Grapes

Legolas or Estel, Legolas or Estel?? Who should win the duel… hmm… hmm…hmm… Let's see, Legolas has all those elven reflexes, but Aragorn's not exactly a blind git himself...Well, my little elf and ranger, it will all depend on my mood when I get up to that part…hehehe

**Crushed Grapes**

_*WHOOSH*_

"By the sword of Glorfindel, I believe I am improving Prince Legolas! Why, if it hadn't been for that wind, I do believe my arrow would have flown directly into the target!"

Aragorn's keen ears picked up the musical voices of Alasse and Legolas as he strolled towards the archery grounds.  He stopped momentarily and glanced about him after hearing Alasse's comment.  Not even the faintest hint of a breeze stirred the trees.  Though it was still early morning, the sun glared through the thick canopy above him, warming the earth considerably.  No clouds offered any protection from the searing rays, and certainly no wind to provide any relief from its heat.

"Wind Alasse? Are you referring to my own gasp as your arrow flitted opposite its intended direction, or perhaps you blew on your arrow?" an exasperated voice answered.

"Well… perhaps it was not wind exactly… But you know it is awfully hard to aim when the sun so mockingly blinds my eyes with her brilliance!"

"Alasse, you are an elf. The sun shines for you not against you.  She only blinds mortal eyes."

Aragorn came to the clearing and quietly observed the two elves.  Legolas had his arms crossed, and Aragorn could practically see the elf mentally struggle between throwing up his arms in defeat and banging his head against the nearest tree.  As Alasse once again misfired, Legolas looked imploringly up to the sky, as if hoping someone would materialize the way he had yesterday to correct the young elf's unruly shooting. 

The prince curiously eyed the numerous trees to the left of the target, dotted with Alasse's arrows, when an idea occurred to him. 

"All right Alasse, we are going to try something new… Since all of your arrows appear to be flying west of the target, try shooting the arrow five meters to the east of where you think the target is… Perhaps your elven eyes are fooling your mind into thinking the target is five meters west of where it actually is."

Aragorn frowned at this suggestion.  He was no elf, but he found it hard to believe it was possible for the keen eyes of any being, let alone an elf, to always see objects to be west of where they actually were. Furthermore, purposely shooting five meters away from where your eyes are focused did not seem very wise.  Alasse certainly did look rather foolish focusing her aim and then pointing her arrow at a small angle away from her line of sight. 

But to the ranger's surprise, the arrow hit the target. True, it was not the center of the target or even the outermost ring– rather it dangled loosely out of the very edge of it, clinging by a hair to the previously untouched board. But nonetheless, it was the target, not a tree five meters to the west of it, and for Alasse that was a great accomplishment. 

Like a hobbit tripping upon a grove of mushrooms, Alasse's glee was irrepressible. 

"Prince Legolas! Did you see that!? Did you see?! Ai! Soon I will be as good as you are my prince!" Legolas cocked an eyebrow, but made no response.  "All will sing of me!" she continued,

_"Lólendea's fair and winsome daughter, Alasse,  
 Glory of the land and water,  
Sat upon the bow of Arda,  
On its highest arch resplendent,  
In a gown of richest fabric,  
In a gold and silver air-gown,_

_Drawing from her splendid quiver,_

_Her quiver granted by Lórien,_

_Merrily flies the golden arrow,  
From Alasse's nimble fingers,  
She strikes the laughing sun,_

_Swiftly flies the comb of silver,_

_From the sky-born maiden's fingers,_

_She grazes the hale moon_

_The stars are jealous_

_Her arrows are weaving webs of wondrous beauty"*_

As Alasse danced and sang, Legolas rubbed his forehead tensely. _Well… __Ada__ did say until she hit the target… He didn't say which part of the target… So perhaps we could stop…._

Legolas's hopes were swiftly dashed when a jubilant Alasse decided to replay her triumphant archery accomplishment. 

It all happened too quickly, even for Legolas.  Alasse grabbed and raised her elven bow. She focused her eyes on the target and rapidly swerved her arms to the right, at a much larger angle than before, reasoning that this time perhaps she could hit the center of the target. Without any pause, she drew back the bowstring and her arrow tore furiously through the air, much farther to the east than she anticipated.

Unfortunately for Aragorn, he was approaching from the east. But fortunately for the ranger, his reflexes were elf-like, for otherwise he would have found himself short one eye. With a loud grunt Aragorn dove out of the arrow's path and hit the ground, knocking the breath out of his lungs. In a stunned state, he lay there, partly because he first had to regain the air violently forced out of his lungs, partly because he was not sure it was yet safe to rise. _Imagine! Being killed by an archer who shoots five meters to the right of where her eyes are focused!_ _Ai! I may as well die by falling face first into a bowl of soup and drowning!_

Alasse's eyes widened and both her jaw and bow dropped, the latter with a soft thud on the mossy ground.  Legolas looked as if he had just been slapped in the face.  A split second passed and the elf prince dashed to the prone ranger.

"Aragorn!" he cried as he raced across the clearing. He had not seen whether the ranger was shot or not- he only looked up in time to see him fall face first to the ground. "By the Valar! Are you all right? Ai! Alasse you shot him! You shot the heir to Gondor's throne, Lord Elrond's foster son, Lord of the Dunadain, the hope of all mankind!" Legolas's eyes widened at this and he gasped. "Ai! You shot the _hope of man Alasse! Dear Elbereth! Of all the ill luck! You finally hit something and it turns out to be the only hope for Middle Earth!"_

Aragorn let out a muffled laugh. He was tempted to continue laying there, just for the amusement of listening to the tormented elf lament the accidental shooting (though he was not actually shot) of the 'hope of man' and the resulting doom of Middle Earth, due to some poorly thought out advice on his part (though Aragorn hardly thought Middle Earth would be doomed because of his death – rather all the races would be united in laughter at the unlikely fate for an accomplished ranger).  

But he could not pretend for too long as Legolas's elven ears heard the muffled laugh, though he was not sure whether it was a laugh or a pained groan, and was instantaneously at the side of the clearly unscathed ranger. Still, the elf's voice quavered with worry. 

"Aragorn! Aragorn, are you all right?" 

Legolas placed his hand gingerly on the ranger's upper back, when to his surprise Aragorn's body began to tremble.

"Aragorn? Aragorn… it's ok, I do not believe you were hit…"

The trembling intensified and the elf's face fell in concern. _Perhaps he is shocked? I would think in all his years of wandering in the wild, he would have faced worse than an elf girl's wayward arrow… _

Legolas now placed both his hands on the ranger's back and shook him gently. As Aragorn continued to quiver, Legolas grabbed his shoulders.

"Aragorn! Aragorn, say something! Forgive me Aragorn, I did not mean… Alasse did not mean…Ai, Alasse, what on Middle Earth were you thinking shooting your arrow like that?"

Alasse, who looked as if she were frozen in ice, stood gaping at the ranger and the elf prince. Her hands trembled and her lower jaw hung open so that Legolas wondered if she had lost all control of her facial muscles.  With dumbfounded eyes as wide as the targets she missed, she stared unblinkingly at Legolas. 

"I…I… was only doing as you said Prince Legolas!" she cried in distress.

"Alasse, I said shoot five meters to the right, not to shoot straight out to your right! Did you even look where you were shooting?" Legolas never looked up from the ranger, but continued to shake him, desperately trying to get his attention.

"Aye! I did look where I was shooting, and I assumed it to be wrong just as you said – my eyes perceive things to be five meters to the west of where they actually are! Only I thought perhaps it may be more than that since I only hit the very edge of the target and that is why I shot further to the east! Only I suppose I overdid it a bit… This will take some getting used to, this illusion in my sight…" Alasse trailed off. Her eyes darted back and forth between Legolas and Aragorn, and finally rested on Legolas, with a sudden look of wonder. "Why, perhaps if I reached out to touch you, you wouldn't really be where I perceive you to be! Ai! What a malady!" As she breathed this, Alasse reached out to Legolas and to her surprise she felt the soft fabric of his tunic exactly where her eyes saw it to be. At this, the color drained from her face and she whispered, "Ai, Elbereth…Perhaps my sense of touch fools me as well?" 

Legolas's hands froze on the ranger's back – now it was his turn to be dumbfounded as he stared back at Alasse.  _This is my fault…I truly am a fool…._

"Alasse… Umm… I think I may have been mistaken about your sight… And I am sure your elven sense of touch is intact as well," he muttered softly, sounding slightly ashamed of himself. 

Aragorn could not control it anymore and his entire body twitched in spasms. Legolas's attention snapped back to the ranger and he pulled back his hands in shock.  Aragorn struggled to push himself up, but the spasms overtook him.

"Aragorn?" Legolas whispered nervously. He then jumped back as the ranger finally succeeded to raise himself to his knees.  And then he realized – it was not shock that caused Aragorn's body to shake uncontrollably. _He thinks this is hilarious!_

Indeed, Aragorn could not control his laughter. Tears poured down his cheeks, and he grasped his sides as he tried, but failed to control himself.  He marveled at how just minutes ago, the news he heard from Gandalf and Thranduil left him in a grim mood, and now here he was, collapsed in a fit of riotous laughter after almost losing an eye to Alasse's pathetic shooting. __

Neither Legolas nor Alasse really knew how to respond to the curious response the ranger had to just barely dodging an arrow.  Legolas's mouth did however begin to twitch as the absurdity of what had just occurred sank in. 

Finally, Aragorn's laughing subsided enough so that he could talk.

"Five meters to the east?? 'You should shoot five meters to the east of where you are looking'???" he spurted out between giggles. "And _you_ are supposed to be teaching her??"  His gray eyes, glistening with tears, mocked the elf in front of him.

Legolas frowned slightly, though amusement flickered in his eyes. "Well, it seemed logical at the time…"

"Then forgive me, for I fear I will never understand elvish logic! It is truly a sorry state the rest of the world is in if the first born are supposed to be the wisest of races…" Aragorn finally gained some self control and wiped the tears from his face.  He grinned at Legolas. 

Legolas indignantly rose from his knees and, after some hesitation, gave Aragorn his hand to help him up. 

"She _did _strike the target," he said defensively as Aragorn stood and brushed himself off. 

"Aye, and if I were an orc, she truly would have been an exceptional archer! To hit a creature square in the eye without even looking at it! Amazing!"  The amusement waned in Legolas's eyes as his irritation at the ranger's ridicule of him grew. 

"I would hold my tongue if I was you Master Human until after our duel…" Legolas icily replied as he turned towards the archery grounds and motioned for Alasse to follow. 

"Oh I am not worried about our duel now Master Elf! For by your logic, you will always strike the air five meters to the right of me!"

Legolas's face darkened. "Well then I will strike you as you convulse uncontrollably in a fit of foolish laughter!"

"That would be cruel indeed Legolas – to hit a man while he is down. Though perhaps that is the only hope for you," Aragorn returned.

"You are not one to speak Aragorn, as I am sure you would not hesitate to fool your opponent into thinking you were gravely injured only to attack him when he put down his guard to help you! Really, you could have let me know a little sooner you were not injured, _Estel, instead of just lying there laughing foolishly." _

"Forgive me, I did not realize you were so concerned about me.  I wonder though, had I been hit and survived such a shot, would you attempt to heal my eye or my ear five inches to the right of my eye?"

Legolas sighed and turned to Alasse, choosing to ignore Aragorn's continuing flow of insults. "All right, Alasse, forget everything I told you… it is not your sense of sight that is distorting your aim." She nodded somberly though she held out her hand in front of her face and moved it about as she tried to touch it with her other hand.  Legolas could not control his smirk at this and turned to the ranger leaning with his arms crossed against a tree, a grin plastered on his unshaven face.

"Well, you may stay though it would be at your own risk…" 

"I'll remain alert," Aragorn lightly assured. 

"Very well then…" Legolas conceded. "Now Alasse…." The elf paused when his gaze fell on the girl, standing dolefully in the dappling of sunlight.  Her eyes were wet and her shoulders sagged dejectedly. 

"I'm sorry Prince Legolas… You have been trying so hard, and it seems nothing can help me. It was only a fluke I hit the target earlier." 

Legolas looked regretfully at the distressed elf. He was about to reassure her that it was not a fluke that she hit the target, but given she was following his absurd advice it was hard for him to believe that it was not accidental. 

"Nay Alasse, you only need more practice. One cannot expect to pick up any skill immediately," he said as he bent down to pick up Alasse's bow.

"You did!" Alasse pointed out, angrily snatching the bow from Legolas.

Legolas smiled and lowered himself to his knees so that he was level with the young elf. He then placed his hands on Alasse's shoulders.

"That is not true Alasse.  It took me many centuries of practice to hone my archery skills.'

Alasse interrupted, "But I bet you at least hit the targets when you first started!"

Legolas hesitated. Actually he had hit the targets dead center on his very first attempts, but he doubted that bit of information would help the current situation very much. So he decided to lie instead. 

"Actually Alasse, I believe I hit the tree directly above, below, to the right, and to the left of the target – that is if the arrow even reached that far! Did you know I was rather small as a child, and the bows were often too big for me? Why, I could barely pull back the string!" This last bit was at least partially true, though Thranduil immediately had smaller bows specially made for his youngest son, seeing how even with the oversized ones Legolas possessed some hints of a remarkable talent. 

The story worked, and a slightly comforted Alasse reluctantly agreed to return to her lesson. This time, Legolas remained kneeled and held the bow with Alasse, his slender hand over her tiny one clutching the bowstring. In slow motion, he guided her as she pulled back the string and released the arrow. With Legolas's help, it flew directly into the center of the target. 

Alasse gasped and grinned at the prince.

"Now don't get too excited Alasse – remember I helped you," he cautioned, though he found it hard to control his own grin at the sight of the elated young girl. 

"I know Prince Legolas, but I think I could do it! I really do," Alasse's tears had dried up and now confidence caused her eyes to sparkle merrily. 

"All right then," Legolas agreed and backed away.

Alasse did not strike the target, but the lesson continued relatively smoothly with Legolas periodically kneeling and holding the bow with Alasse, gently giving her tips. Aragorn sat down contentedly against a tree and drew out his pipe. He felt safe now with Legolas in full control over at least the general realm in which Alasse was aiming. It was actually a charming sight – the tall, noble elf archer on his knees next to the small girl, patiently guiding her aim.  As Aragorn lazily blew smoke from his pipe, his lids drooped slightly and every muscle in his body relaxed as if he were floating upon a warm, calm lake. It truly was a beautiful day. An opalescent sky provided the perfect backdrop for the lush green leaves of the forest.  Though the sun was hot, the magnificent beech trees offered some respite and a menagerie of sweet, floral scents pervaded the air. With the exception of the arrows' _whoosh, some birds twittering, and soft conversation between Legolas and Alasse, the forest was quiet and peaceful. A serene, soothing sense of nostalgia washed over the ranger as he suddenly felt as if he were back in Imladris, before he left for the wild, before Elrond had told him his true name, before he had even met Arwen, when he and his brothers would relax and play among the enchanted trees and lakes of the forest. _

Those days seemed so long ago now, like they were another age entirely, and he was another man.  

Since leaving those enchanted woods, Aragorn had seen and experienced much as he traveled to the troubled states of Gondor and Rohan, the harsh deserts of the Haradrim, the forbidding mines of Moria, and perilous Caradhras. The greed and treachery he encountered in his travels among all races, though mostly humans, forced him to become rather grim and suspicious.  He was more of a ranger than a king in exile, but the knowledge of his lineage also bestowed a colossal sense of responsibility upon his shoulders.  Not a day passed when Aragorn did not feel its weight bearing down on him.  _The hope of man… Thranduil knew the meaning of his name immediately, as did Legolas. Was he truly their hope? Ai, why did they all place so much trust in him? How he wished sometimes he could go back to the days when he was not a king in exile, not even a ranger, just a kid enjoying life and savoring the mystical elven realm around him. But then again, he could never just stand aside and watch as others strove and suffered to save Middle Earth either.  '__No,' he thought. '_No matter what, I would be where I am today – a ranger fighting on behalf of this world, whether or not it is my explicit duty.'__

Aragorn sat up as he remembered his duties to Gandalf and Thranduil. '_Well, I will not be leaving for another couple of days, so it is not so bad if I take some time to relax…' _one part of his brain reasoned.

_'But there is much that needs to be prepared. You should be in the library now researching Dol Guldur and studying maps. And you were also supposed to be searching for a warrior to accompany you,' _another part of his mind scolded. 

He truly did not want to leave though, so long had it been since he felt so peaceful.  On a day as beautiful as this, it was hard to believe any evil existed in the world.  Besides, he had that duel with Legolas… 

Through a thick puff of smoke, Aragorn watched as Legolas slowly pulled back the bowstring and made a perfect shot, explaining each of his movements to Alasse.  Aragorn had grown to like the elf prince quite a bit this last day and a half and he was rather impressed with his archery skills.  If it were not for the small fact that Legolas was a prince, Aragorn would have asked the elf to join him on the scouting trip in an instant.  But the ranger feared it may be a little audacious of him to ask for a member of the royal family to drop all his duties and venture out on what was sure to be a risky journey. Plus would Legolas even want to put himself in such grave danger being what he was? Even if he was not the crown prince, his people surely admired him and looked to him for hope.  He no doubt felt some bit of responsibility to them. _Just look at how Alasse loves him!  The young elf's eyes, shining with awe, followed Legolas's fluid movements as he gracefully pulled back the silvery bowstring. Her blue orbs bolted from Legolas's bow to the target as quickly as the arrow had reached it and then they refocused on Legolas. When he easily hit another target ten meters behind the one Alasse was practicing on she clapped and grinned, begging him to shoot again.  The prince smiled warily at her, shook his head and handed the bow back to the young elf so that she could continue practicing. When she struck the second to last ring on the target a moment later, she hopped about gleefully, singing and giggling. Aragorn smiled as Alasse then forcefully grabbed Legolas's hand and pulled him down to his knees so that she could hug his neck and plant a kiss on the prince's cheek. _

"Well, what a glorious day this is indeed! A kiss from the loveliest lady archer in Mirkwood, 'Lólendea's fair and winsome daughter, glory of the land and water.' My lady, I am truly honored," Legolas cooed as he lifted the girl's hand to his lips.  Alasse's rosy cheeks blushed a deeper shade of pink, and she giggled some more. 

Aragorn sighed and let out another cloud of smoke. Who was he to take Legolas away from them? 

"Alasse, why don't you go and play now that you have struck the target properly, without any outside help?" Legolas suggested as he began to rise. Alasse's grin widened joyfully and she gave Legolas another quick hug before skittering off to find her playmates, eager to let them know she had finally struck the target (and received a kiss on the hand from the elf prince). 

Brushing himself off, Legolas strolled over to where the ranger was reclining against the thick trunk of a beech tree, dreamily puffing his pipe.

"Enjoying yourself Master Ranger? I see you have indeed remained quite alert. Stealthy you are, for I believe if I were to sneak up on you, I would not think you were aware of my presence, so good are you at pretending to be completely oblivious to your surroundings.  Tell me Aragorn, is it the cloud of smoke you exhale around you that creates the illusion that your head is in the clouds? Or perhaps it is the smoke you _inhale that _puts _your head in the clouds…"  _

Aragorn grinned. "I would suspect one whose head is so light he makes his home in the clouds and is rarely brought back down, should know the answer to that riddle and needn't have to ask.  You surprise me again Master Elf." 

Legolas chuckled and dropped down next to Aragorn. "But if my head is in the clouds, it is not due to that rancid smoke you're so fond of, so you are wrong – I would not know the answer to that riddle." Aragorn gave no response other than a subtle smirk. Together they gazed at the scattered patches of sunlight, which looked like a splattering of champagne on the shadowy ground. Puffy, cotton ball clouds slowly began to appear and parade steadily against the sky, their shadows darkening the world below.  

"But the clouds are a fine home to live in Aragorn. They sail peacefully above the earth for ages and see more of her than any mere earth dweller could ever hope to see, from the great seas of the West to the deserts of the East, all in one mortal day." Legolas leaned his head back against the tree and wrapped his arms around his bent knees. 

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully, but then added, "Aye, but for them Middle Earth is nothing more but a series of remote images for they can only watch, not participate in the joys and sorrows of Arda. Thus, I imagine, they must get rather bored since they cannot taste the sweet wine from the vineyards, swim in the cool lakes, smell the scent of lavenders and feel the soft grass of the earth beneath them, though they see them all.  I would rather observe Middle Earth from down here, where I can hear, see, taste smell, and feel all of the gifts she offers us." 

"And the curses she casts upon us," Legolas uttered softly.

The ranger turned his head towards the elf, who still stared up at the clouds. "Do you believe the curses outweigh the gifts?"

"Nay Aragorn, I do not. That is why I stay." Legolas paused and eyed the ranger intensely. "And what of you, Aragorn, heir of Isildur? Do _you believe her curses outweigh her gifts?"_

Aragorn cocked an eyebrow, and without hesitation answered, "Nay Legolas, surely her gifts outweigh the curses for now."

"Then tell me Aragorn, do you believe the curses of humans outweigh their benevolence? Do you have hope in your people, that they can save what is good in this world?"

Startled, Aragorn met the elf's concentrated stare.  Considering they had only just met a short time ago, Legolas's questions seemed rather impudent, but he would expect no less from an elf. Then again, what would make Legolas ask such a question? Was he asking because he himself doubted the capacity of humans to do good? Or did he suspect Aragorn doubted the benevolence of humans? _No, Aragorn thought. __He wants to know if I truly am the hope of man, if I have enough faith in humans to one day lead them when they ensured the lasting presence of evil in this world in the first place._

"I do not yet know the answer to that," Aragorn replied heavily. He held the elf's stare a moment longer then turned to inhale from his pipe. 

Just as Legolas was about to press Aragorn further, the ranger took matters into his own hands. "Is there a reason you are stalling our duel Master Elf? Perhaps you are weary from this morning's lesson?"

"Nay! But you looked so comfortable I did not wish to rouse you – I thought perhaps you forgot."

Aragorn smirked. "Or perhaps you were hoping I forgot." 

"Well, for your own sake perhaps. I do not necessarily take pleasure in swift triumphs against my foes." 

"Good. Then you will enjoy your quick defeat," Aragorn stated matter-of-factly as he stood up, stretching his long legs and arms. 

 Legolas shook his head pityingly as if Aragorn were a naïve child, "Human, I am afraid you have grown used to Elladan's and Elrohir's inferior skills, for you greatly underestimate my abilities as an elf."

As the ranger and elf strode to the foundry, where Legolas could pick up a sword, they continued to pass jibes back and forth, enjoying a duel of wits before the duel of swords. But Legolas knew the only reason Aragorn had reminded him of their challenge was to ward off more questions about himself. He marveled at this and Aragorn's reaction in the library to the book Legolas had wanted to show him about his ancestors.  _Does he lack hope in his people or hope in himself?_

The foundry was a short distance away from the clearing. Aragorn noted grimly how Legolas fingered his bow as they walked further away from the palace though they were still within elven territory.  When they reached the foundry, where metalworkers sang merrily about the mythological origins of iron casting and weapon making, Legolas quickly swiped a sword.

"Here, here Prince Legolas, you come and steal our swords without explanations? Have you grown tired of your bow?" the master craftsman queried, as he melted a sheet of metal over a small flame. 

"Nay, Mendril, I am merely borrowing it. You will have it back shortly." Legolas warmly slapped the elf worker on the back.

Mendril laughed cheerfully. "Keep it Thranduillion! Consider it a gift to our most humble prince." The metalworker turned back to his work and continued with his song as Legolas and Aragorn turned to leave the building. Legolas gave a small nod of thanks as he left.  

Legolas then led Aragorn away to another clearing in the forest across which the wine making facilities were located. There, they spied a purple-stained Ciédron grumpily stomping grapes in a low wooden pool.  Legolas smirked faintly at this, but to Aragorn's surprise, he chose not to tease his brother and even made sure they remained a good distance away from him, so that they would not be easily spotted. 

"There will be other training sessions on the archery grounds today, so it will not be a suitable area for us. This is the only other safe clearing, but we should stay away from the stomping pools. I'd rather not have Ciédron see I am finished with the lesson already." 

Aragorn nodded and wondered whether this was because Legolas feared starting another fight, or out of concern for his brother's pride since he was still carrying out his punishment (and had much less success with Alasse than Legolas had).  Something about Legolas's tone of voice made him believe it was the latter. 

The elf drew his sword and faced Aragorn haughtily.  To many he may have looked rather formidable with his confident poise and the sun reflecting off of his hair in an almost eerie glow.  But having grown up with these glowing, self-assured creatures, Aragorn would have been more unnerved by an enraged butterfly.  He gave a small smile, drew his sword, and fixed his own unyielding gray eyes on Legolas. Cocking his head to one side, the ranger raised his eyebrows superciliously at the elf.

"Shall we begin Thranduillion, Prince of the Woodland Realm?"

"As you wish, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Lord of the Dunadain," Legolas coolly returned with a slight bow.  

The two marched towards each other, raised their swords, and the duel commenced.  Metal clinked against metal as Aragorn and Legolas, with outstanding reflexes, blocked each other's swords. Though they shifted back and forth, overall they moved little from where they started since neither one's skills overpowered the other's. 

_Clink _

"Ah! That was a fine block ranger! You are better than I thought!" Legolas said, not without condescension, as he spun and blocked Aragorn's swing in return.

_Clink_

"You are not so bad yourself, Master Elf, though I would have expected you to have dislodged my sword by now what, with those phenomenal elven reflexes of yours," Aragorn mocked, blocking a low swing by the elf.

_Clink_

"Well it would not be much fun for either of us if I ended this silly duel too quickly would it?" he grinned, stopping Aragorn's sword above him. 

Silvery glints were all that any outsider could possibly make of the swords as they rapidly clanked, clinked, and clattered.  At one point Aragorn seemed to be gaining on the elf as he pushed him back towards a tree, but with a resurgence of energy (though whether Legolas had been holding back all this time or not, Aragorn had no way of telling), the elf overtook Aragorn and forced him back towards the center of the clearing where they began.  He crouched and spun gracefully as he blocked another swing by Aragorn, and somehow glided to his other side so that Aragorn was forced to turn around to face the elf.

"Show off," the ranger muttered under his breath.

But not once was Aragorn caught off guard by Legolas's smooth, quick sidling and spins. 

Beads of sweat formed on Aragorn's brow. He again overtook Legolas in a rapid succession of swings and clinks.  Though the elf's speed was quicker than any human Aragorn had ever dueled with, perhaps even any elf, even Legolas had trouble holding back Aragorn's onslaught and the elf found himself backing dangerously close into a tree…

Knowing he would be doomed should he find a beech against his back, Legolas continued to ward off Aragorn's blows and attempted to turn so that at least he would be pushed away from the beeches. The elf finally succeeded in directing himself and Aragorn away from the clearing's edge. 

Though Aragorn was performing impressively against the elf, he knew Legolas had one significant advantage over him – stamina.  Human stamina could never come close to that of an elf and if he did not end this duel soon, Legolas would surely win if only by default because Aragorn would eventually collapse from exhaustion while the elf still hopped about with his infinite energy. But this was far from easy. Legolas would not allow Aragorn to come close to displacing his sword.  It was as if the elf could foresee each and every one of Aragorn's swings. 

Soon Aragorn found himself backing up. But it was in the opposite direction of the trees… _Wait, what was there, if not the trees? Aragorn wondered, momentarily forgetting his surroundings as he focused on deflecting Legolas's sword. _

'_The pools of crushed grapes you fool!' his mind realized in a panic. _

The glint in Legolas's eyes confirmed Aragorn's guess – that in a few moments he would find himself falling backwards into a pool of sticky grape juice. He could even begin to pick up the squishing sound of grapes being crushed, though the sound ceased suddenly causing Aragorn to wonder if Ciédron finally noticed the two of them. 

In a sudden move that took Aragorn by surprise, Legolas spun and slid behind him. Legolas then squatted, fully expecting Aragorn to turn standing straight up. When the ranger did turn, the momentary surprise of spinning around to find no sword at his level to deflect his own swing caused Aragorn to hop back as Legolas swung from below. As Aragorn quickly, but clumsily deflected this blow and moved to strike Legolas's sword, the elf quickly rose and spun, again surprising Aragorn, and a moment later the ranger found a pointy tip an inch from his neck.  With a grim smile, Aragorn dropped his sword and raised his hands in defeat. 

This last set of movements by the elf was so quick it would be nearly impossible for any human to keep up. But Aragorn was not just any human and though he knew it would be futile to try to tell Legolas, it was not just the rapidity of the elf's motions that had caused Aragorn to become distracted enough to finally let down his guard. True, Legolas's move which had switched the positions of himself and Aragorn so that it was Legolas's back that faced the stomping pools, not Aragorn's, was impressive and caught Aragorn off guard. But it was what Aragorn saw when he finally faced the grape pools that caused his mind to lose its focus. 

As Legolas spun and ducked, clinked and clattered, Ciédron had stopped and closely watched both of them, at first surprised, but then amused, as his younger brother and the ranger put on an impressive show.  But then a new look, none that Aragorn had yet seen, began to flicker in those blue eyes.  Was that mischief he saw brewing between the formerly high-strung elf's pointy ears? It was only for a split second that Aragorn caught this look and it distracted him just enough to fall victim to Legolas's acrobatic stunts.  As he stood there, with his hands in the air, Aragorn's eyes furtively darted to Ciédron. Legolas caught this, though for him, this would prove to be his downfall.  For when he turned to see what it was that had caught Aragorn's attention, he was greeted with a loud, wet, unpleasant _splat._

Time stood still. Aragorn stood gaping at the elf, a laugh slowly building up from the pit of his stomach.  Legolas turned around, eyes practically bulging out of his head, mouth ajar. Slowly, he lifted his tunic to wipe the sticky remnants of crushed grapes off his forehead and right cheek. This was his second mistake. Aragorn took advantage of the elf's momentary hindering of his eyesight by his tunic to swiftly kick out, wrap his long leg around Legolas's ankle and trip him so that a moment later the elf was flat on his back, this time with Aragorn's sword at his neck.

"Touche, my friend?" Aragorn smugly asked with a wide grin. 

Legolas decided to answer this by grabbing the crushed grapes that had hit him a moment ago and flinging them at Aragorn's ridiculous grin.  The ranger fell back a bit, chuckling, and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.

"Touche, Aragorn," Legolas replied good-humoredly as he hoisted himself up.  Aragorn grabbed the elf's hand and pulled him up just as another handful of crushed grapes struck the back of the elf's head. Scowling, Legolas turned towards Ciédron who was stomping his grapes a little too innocently. With a mischievous smile, Ciédron slowly gazed up at Legolas.

"Is something the matter, my brother? Couldn't wait to taste my magnificent wine, could you?" Ciédron teased, for which he was rewarded with a splat of crushed grapes that had dripped out of Legolas's hair. But rather than growing irritated at this, Ciédron merely chuckled, though a bitter flavor tinged his voice. "Thank you Legolas, now my face will match my feet and hands. Truly, I do believe Ada's punishments are getting a little out of hand now… I do fully blame you for this you know."

Legolas smirked grimly. "Well you had your revenge then…"

Ciédron snorted and said ominously, "Hardly, my brother, hardly…" Before turning his back on the two, he gestured towards Aragorn, and congratulated him sincerely. "Never before have I seen anyone offer such a challenge to my brother, and he has dueled with many of our finest warriors. Well done Aragorn. You are a truly talented swordsman indeed." 

Aragorn nodded graciously, though Ciédron did not see it before he turned around and returned to his stomping.  Legolas smiled at the ranger as they headed back to the palace.

"The troll is right you know. I have never dueled with such an adept swordsman. Though you did get me while I was down…" he said as he tried to comb his fingers through his matted hair.

"I believe I got you when you let your guard down, Legolas, and that fault is not my own," Aragorn pointed out.

"True… little did I expect to be pelted with crushed grapes, though I probably should have known better venturing so close to Ciédron!"  Legolas frowned, remembering something. "I hope Ciédron does not decide to speak to Mithrandie about his desire for revenge.  I would hate to see what those two came up with for me." 

Aragorn laughed at this and laid a purple hand on the elf's shoulder. "I am sure if they decide to take their revenge on you mellonin, you will figure out some way to divert their schemes."

Legolas looked doubtful, but he did not argue with Aragorn.  As they left the clearing, and reentered the small stretch of woods dividing it and the archery grounds, hazy shadows drifted around the trees and Aragorn suddenly had the tingling sensation that eyes were upon him.  The elf seemed to have the same foreboding as he suddenly tensed and grabbed an arrow from his quiver. 

"Aragorn, did you hear that?" he hissed tersely as his eyes scanned their surroundings.

"Nay Legolas, but I felt it," Aragorn replied softly as he unsheathed his sword and put his back against Legolas's. 

The two stood deathly still, their ears straining to hear every rustle and crackle, their eyes searching every shadow.  The warm sunlight that scattered through the trees earlier was now blocked by vast clouds and the air felt significantly cooler. A couple of minutes passed with nothing more than a muffled silence, but neither the elf nor the ranger felt any desire to move. The absence of any creatures or noises disconcerted them since when they had walked through the first time, squirrels, birds, and bugs scurried about erratically.  Something now kept them in hiding. 

Suddenly, Legolas's elven eyes caught something. They flashed brightly and with lightning speed the elf raised his bow and released an arrow.

"What is it Legolas?" Aragorn asked anxiously raising his sword in preparation. 

Legolas did not answer, but gazed intently at the area in the branches where he shot his arrow. He then let loose another one, and waited a bit longer. 

"Wait here, Aragorn and be prepared to strike at any foul creature that may fall out of the tree," he said briskly, when nothing came of his shots. He then pulled himself up onto a branch and climbed high into the tree his arrows flew into. 

Aragorn looked up and carefully studied the branches where the elf was climbing. Finally he saw what Legolas's arrows had struck, but did not kill. An enormous, stealthy, and now injured spider slinked about the labyrinth of branches, two arrows protruding from its side.  When Legolas reached the same branch the black spider occupied, he pulled out a long elven dagger.  The spider sidled back on the branch and hissed at the elf. 

"Aragorn, remember, its stomach is its most vulnerable part," the elf called down.  Aragorn nodded, hoping the elf knew what he was doing as the spider boldly lunged towards him. 

Legolas did not flinch however and with a swift thrust, he dug his dagger into the thick exoskeleton. The spider let out a screech and a dark, thick liquid oozed from its wound, but otherwise it was undeterred. Legolas ducked out of the way of a hooked claw and stabbed at the spider's long leg, but the spider merely screeched again and seemed to get even angrier. 

Aragorn did not like the way this was going.  The elf's stabs seemed to be of no avail as the spider continued to slink away, screech, and spring forward. Though Legolas, with moves that would have been difficult even on the ground, slid away from each attack, Aragorn worried that inevitably the elf would eventually be struck.  Desperate to do something, and without a bow and arrow, Aragorn drew a knife from his boot and flung it like a dart at the spider.  Taking advantage of the momentary shock of the spider at yet another wound, Legolas dived at it and plunged his knife into one of its eight eyes so forcefully both he and the spider lost their balance and fell to the ground.

Aragorn's eyes widened when he saw the elf fall on top of the spider and then roll off, grabbing and pulling out his knife as he tumbled to the ground.  Just as the spider was about to leap onto Legolas, Aragorn pierced its side with his sword.  As the spider fell to its other side, Legolas, still on his knees, forced his knife into its underbelly.  When it twitched one more time, still stubbornly clinging to its life, Aragorn drove his sword deep into the stomach, and the spider finally went limp. 

With a frustrated "Argh!" Legolas pulled his knife out of the spider's stomach, and Aragorn pulled out his own sword with a dark scowl.  They remained still for a few moments, hardly believing they had just had this battle in this thin stretch of woods so close to the palace walls. Legolas angrily rose to his feet and sheathed his knife. He then glared at the dead spider.  

"Legolas! Aragorn! What has happened here?!?!?"

Aragorn turned to see a purple stained elf racing towards them, and knew immediately it was Ciédron.  The prince halted and paled when he saw the lifeless spider, bleeding profusely on the forest floor. His eyes darted fretfully from Legolas to Aragorn and back to Legolas. 

"A spider Ciédron! Can you believe it! So close to the palace!" Legolas spat out as he violently kicked the already dead creature. 

Ciédron uttered not a word nor did a single muscle twitch. He just gaped at the spider, as if he did not even hear Legolas speak. 

"Did you not hear me, Ciédron?!" Legolas shouted irritably as he broke off the shaft of one of his arrows lodged in the spider and threw it to the ground.

Ciédron looked up at Legolas, fear filling his bright eyes, "We must tell Ada, Legolas."

Legolas's temper cooled down only slightly and he hesitated before answering, as he ripped out the other arrow from the spider's body.

"I don't know Ciédron," he said in a low voice, "perhaps it is just this one spider… perhaps it was just this one idiotic spider that dared to wander so near our home…"

Ciédron, still stunned, shook his head. His voice barely a whisper, he replied, "Nay, Legolas. That is what I said yesterday."

Legolas and Aragorn snapped up at this. Aragorn spoke first.

"What do you mean you said that yesterday?" he asked warily, though he feared he already knew the answer.

Legolas's eyes flashed and Ciédron met and held his brother's stare. "I killed one yesterday. Just before Alasse's lesson. It was just outside the archery grounds." 

The three stood silently for a moment, stunned at this news. Legolas then broke the silence with another "argh!" and another violent kick against the spider. Ciédron hurried over to his brother and grabbed his shoulder. 

"Legolas, we must tell Ada…" Ciédron gasped and grabbed his brother's forearm. "Legolas! You are injured!" he cried as he turned Legolas's arm over in his hands. 

"It is nothing Ciédron. I would not be able to move it if it were gravely hurt," Legolas said curtly as he paced away from the other elf. 

"Legolas, let me see, I am a healer," Aragorn practically demanded, starting towards the elf. 

"Nay! It is nothing!" he shot back, turning away from the ranger. 

Aragorn frowned. The wound did not look so bad – it bled, but not dangerously, and he thought it should heal in a day or two.  But it was not the wound itself that worried him…

"Legolas, what if venom got into it!?" Ciédron exclaimed, his voice full of concern. "Let him look at it!" 

"If it turns green, both of you may goggle at it to your heart's desire, but now we must get back to the palace and tell Ada of this," Legolas gritted as he began to walk briskly towards the palace. 

Ciédron let out a frustrated sigh, but held back Aragorn, who was ready to forcibly grab the Legolas elf so that he could study his wound. Ciédron knew all too well it was useless to argue with his brother and they would most likely only make it worse by starting another huge battle, possibly drawing attention to more spiders, if in fact there were anymore.  They would be better off waiting until they reached the safety of the palace. Aragorn caught Ciédron's eye and the two made a mental agreement not to let the other elf out of their sight in case suspicious symptoms began to appear.  

As they neared the palace, Ciédron let out a grim laugh. 

"Here we are, about to upset Ada yet again. Two nights in a row this week – he will no doubt be in an awful mood for a long time over all this."

Half of Legolas's mouth lifted in a small smile. "Well, at least we will not be in trouble this time. Though he will not be pleased with our appearance, especially considering the feast tonight in honor of Mithrandir and Aragorn…. However, we may feel comforted at the fact that the guest of honor does not look much better than us." Legolas eyed the ranger with some amusement. 

Aragorn chuckled. "I am used to showing up at these things in not exactly the most pristine state…"

"So is Legolas," Ciédron remarked, receiving a whack in the head in response. 

The three fell back into a heavy silence. Anger still gleamed in Legolas's eyes and Ciédron continued to glance worriedly at his brother's arm, as did Aragorn whose healer instincts were itching to get a closer look at the elf's injury. 

As they entered the palace, cheerful songs and delicious smelling food and drink greeted their senses as if they had opened the door of a burning house and were hit by a blast of smoke and hot air – only this of course was much more pleasant.  The three allowed themselves to relax slightly as the heavy door closed behind them, shutting out whatever evil dwelled in the woods, but tensed up again when they realized that the food, drink, and song could only mean one thing – the feast had already started. The elves and ranger looked at each other, but they could not care less anymore about their purple stained faces, hair and hands, ripped clothing, and, in Legolas's case, a bleeding gash on his left arm.  In a wordless agreement, they headed determinedly to the throne room, ignoring the gapes and comments uttered by numerous shocked elves as they passed. 

TBC

*Yep, I stole and mutilated another Kalevala poem. 

Well, as you can see, I did not really do much this Fourth of July weekend, leaving me much time to write ;) Ah well, that's ok, because this is rather fun…  

Ahhh… so I have to unclick that little "do not accept anonymous reviews box"… that's why so many people were emailing me, telling me fanfic won't let them review…. Thanks Nilbrethiliel!  Well, after erasing my own story and now this, I think maybe finally I'm getting the hang of how this fanfic site works…

**Thanks for the reviews again guys!**

Nilbrethiliel, Aragorn's inability to understand Legolas was due to his speaking a little too quickly and a little too incoherently, not due to any inability to understand Sindarin. I don't think anyone could really understand Ciédron either for the same reasons…

Maranwe: hehe…You never know… I might decide to bring in "Bob the Fighting Elf…" or introduce "Jasmine, Thranduil's other daughter and also the most beautiful elf maiden in all of Mirkwood" and perhaps Aragorn will choose one of them…. 

Dot: I found this website called "elvish name generator" where you punch in names & they give you the elvish version of it.  I was very amused by this I must say, but anyway that's where I've been getting the names from… I was a little afraid that all the names listed were just famous elvish names since a few came up that I recognized… I didn't realize the ones I did choose were famous ones (whoops!) though I'll try to be a little more careful about that from now on… (sigh- famous elf lords have been turned into mere servants…) 


	6. Gandalf's Revenge

**A/N**!! Good lord guys – So Dot was so very kind to point out to me that many of the names I was using were famous historic elf names. I did not realize how famous and historic until I went out and bought myself the Silmarillion today. Well, I hope that didn't irritate anyone too much… So sorry really, I was completely clueless (anyone remember that Friends episode when a completely clueless Joey called himself Joseph Stalin? Hehe… yes that is me) Anyway, I went back and changed all the names, including Legolas's brother, since as it turns out Cirdan was a very important guy who had one of the three rings, along with Gil-galad & Galadriel *cringe*– if you notice this change & it feels bizarre to you, sorry, but you get used to it quick – I did.  If you didn't notice then forget I said anything.  So anyway, now Legolas's brother is Cièdron and his dead brothers & sister & servants are no longer historic elf lords and leaders (hehe- a classic soap opera style switch in actors– but only the name)… And for anyone out there using an elvish name generator – be warned! Those are not originals! (*readers can now roll their eyes at me*)

Before I forget, as I usually do (and to think, I'm going to be a lawyer)….. They are not mine. I am stealing these characters.

Ok, so now that that's taken care of, on to Chapter 6…..

**Gandalf's Revenge**

"Do you ever feel Mithrandir that the world around you is burning and you are the only one who knows it?" Thranduil sighed heavily after briefly greeting two elven nobles who had come to pay their respect to the Istari.  They had bowed pompously to the wizard, flattering him with lavish compliments and welcomes. 

Mithrandir smiled. "Thranduil, not only am I the only one who knows the world around me is burning, I often feel I am the only one who is aware others' worlds are in flames as well."

The two made their rounds of the throne room, which now flaunted excessive decoration of colorful streamers and glittering candles, burning within the protection intricately molded glass casings.  Mountains of food, including fruits, candies, bread, and pastries overwhelmed their platters. Elves were scattered haphazardly throughout the throne room, many perched on branches and a few in chairs, while others stood or danced.  A small group of elves played an array of musical instruments, including fiddles and woodwinds. Many sang bawdy or comical songs as goblets were rapidly drained only to be refilled by an endless flow of wine (_we are running short on wine, indeed! Cièdron would later note bitterly.) A group of young elves raced up to Gandalf and pulled on his beard._

"Gandalf, can you make the stars fly again, can you??" one begged the wizard, his eyes wide with his pleading.

Thranduil frowned and shot a warning glance at Gandalf, who chuckled at the child's eagerness.

"Not tonight, I'm afraid. Do you not remember the last time someone released fireworks within the palace's walls?"

Thranduil snorted at the easygoing tone of Gandalf's voice. _Do you remember indeed… when my entire palace nearly exploded from 'making the stars fly…'_

The child pouted, but gave up quickly when he glanced at the stern face of the king and dashed off to his friends with the bad news. 

Thranduil sighed and gazed out the high window as the stars began to peak through the darkening sky.  He would have preferred to hold this feast outside, but at night, though the elven realm still remained relatively secure, he had doubts about the safety of so many elves, including children, outside the palace walls. 

"I am pleased my people still retain their humor and light. But it worries me they have grown so used to the darkness. They accept it now as a normal part of life."

"What other choice do they have Thranduil?" Gandalf asked.

"I wish I could answer that, Mithrandir." 

 "Ah… here they are," Gandalf cheerily said as Cièdron, Legolas and Aragorn entered the throne room. "I do believe, Thranduil, that Aragorn may have been spending a little too much time with your sons…" Gandalf mused as he beheld the sticky, purple remnants of grapes on the three's clothes, faces and hands. 

"Aye, for the love of Elbereth…" the fair king grumbled upon seeing his two sons and Aragorn enter the throne room.  _They look like weather-beaten donkeys, he thought lazily. Even worse, Legolas flaunted as many purple stains on his hair, face and hands as Cièrdon which of course could only mean they were at it again. _I wonder what or who started it this time…__

"Mithrandir, are you sure you don't yet want Legolas's services? Why, I can even throw in the other one as well. Two elven princes, Mithrandir - I bet even Lord Elrond is not so generous.  They are all yours," Thranduil smoothly offered as if he were bargaining away his emeralds. 

"Actually I do think Lord Elrond would pay me to take away his two sons…"

Thranduil glanced at the bright purple blotches on Legolas's cheeks and his once silver tunic.

"I will double whatever Elrond offers," he replied rather seriously.

Gandalf smiled. "Well I am afraid I must decline Thranduil.  There is a reason I only visit for short periods at a time you know…"

Though Gandalf said this in jest, Thranduil did not seem to recognize the humor and replied seriously.

"Aye, I do not blame you Mithrandir."

The two elves and human approached the king and wizard purposefully, their eyes steely and mouths grim. Thranduil crossed his arms and gazed warily at them, his stance tall and forbidding like an angry bull ready to trample whoever pressed his miniscule patience.  Cièdron glanced surreptitiously at Legolas.  In return, Legolas silently mouthed the infamous phrase about to be uttered by their irate father, who unknowingly repeated word for word his tirades and chastisements in his fiery fits of fury. Cièdron nodded slightly and sighed.  The as of yet unspoken phrase was the phrase used whenever they were tardy for some grand feast or celebration, always reiterated in a moment of utmost irritation with enough thunder to embarrass the two in front of all the bemused guests.  

As predicted, in a booming voice with stringent articulation of each scathing word, the king made it clear to his sons and to everyone else in his presence his patience was now wearing dangerously thin.

"You are late. And you look terrible. Explain yourselves." 

Cièdron cringed faintly at the icy tone in his father's voice.  Legolas remained expressionless and latched on to his father's gaze.  Though Aragorn boldly stepped forward, it was Legolas who answered.

"It was a spider that kept us. A spider not far from the foundry, Ada. Cièdron fought one off yesterday."  Legolas's voice was steady and inexpressive except for the hint of frustration that was out of the elf's self control. He stared hard at his father, daring him to scold them and challenging him to respond to this ominous news.  Aragorn watched the elf as he spoke then turned his attention to Gandalf.

"It had no fear of either of us.  It fiercely fought back – this was no stray. It had no qualms about traveling through elven realms."

"Aye," Cièdron softly agreed, the memory of the spiders still haunting his cerulean eyes. "Nor did the one I killed yesterday seem to fear the presence of elves."

"That is because we are weakening." Thranduil stated simply, dropping his hands to his sides and turning away from his sons. A moment passed during which none of them could be certain of what thoughts and ideas journeyed through the King's mind.  Not anger, frustration, nor sadness succeeded in revealing itself through his actions. He passively stood with his back turned to Legolas, Cièdron and Aragorn and observed the other elves around him as they sang and drank merrily, unaware of the darkness that awaited them just outside these very walls. 

"This is no news to me," the king finally spoke, his voice taking on a strange, foreign tone. His head dropped, allowing his silky, cornhusk hair to fall over his face like a veil. 

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged confused glances and Cièdron grasped his father's sagged shoulder.  

"Ada, were you already aware spiders dwelled within our own home?" he asked carefully.

Thranduil turned and faced them again, but avoided meeting his sons' eyes. Instead he focused on Aragorn, who stiffened in response.

"No, Cièdron, but it does not surprise me that they do," Thranduil answered steadily all the while locking in the ranger's gaze. Gandalf observed quietly, showing no surprise at the king's impassiveness. "Aragorn, there are a few warriors I should like to introduce you too, if you do not mind," Thranduil continued, as if the issue of the spiders was now settled. 

Aragorn nodded respectfully. "It would be an honor, my king."

Now Legolas and Cièdron exchanged confused glances. Thranduil's reaction was rather odd. Indeed, it seemed as if he had no reaction at all! As Thranduil beckoned for Aragorn to follow him, Legolas spoke up, failing to hide the irritation in his voice, which rapidly developed into a passionate rage. 

"You mean to ignore this then? Is that your response? To ignore these creatures and hope they go away? You accuse us of not being aware of what Mirkwood is facing, yet tell me Ada, what is it you actually plan on doing to fight this? Perhaps it is no surprise to you these foul creatures dare to wander so close to our home, but it certainly surprised Cièdron and me! We have killed two spiders in two days, Ada. What is it you intend on doing about this? Continue polishing your jewels within the safety of your palace walls, counting your silver coins, amassing more gold? Is that it then? Your collections will mean nothing soon! We will all perish at the hands of Sauron, just as Maegren and Feáner did! It will not be long…" A powerful, biting slap prevented Legolas from finishing. Cièdron caught his brother as he fell back in shock and breathlessly held tight to his uninjured forearm.

"How dare you…" Thranduil seethed, his eyes bright with fury and face pallid from the lividness that swept over him like a tidal wave. "HOW DARE YOU!" Thranduil bellowed as a hush fell over all the elves. Gandalf stepped forward and placed a hand on the king's shoulder in an attempt to placate the enraged elf.

"Thranduil, he knew not what he was speaking of… one cannot always control their tongue after such events…"

"I knew exactly what I was speaking of!" Legolas spat back, struggling against Cièdron's grip. He gingerly rubbed his tender cheek which still throbbed from his father's blow.

"Peace Legolas." Now Aragorn placed a hand on Legolas's other arm, grimly noting his wince as his fingers grazed the elf's wound. But the ranger seemed to have a calming effect on him nonetheless, and Legolas's muscles relaxed slightly. 

"You do not tell us anything Adar. You keep us in the dark like birds trapped in a cave. Think you that this darkness has no effect on us? You tell Mithrandir and Aragorn more than you tell us and we are your sons!" Legolas's voice quavered with fury, though he was no longer shouting. 

"That is enough Legolas! You will end this childish tantrum now! DO YOU HEAR ME!? NOW!" Thranduil roared. The king then turned brusquely to Aragorn. "You will come with me now ranger."

Aragorn hesitated, not appreciating the curt, rude way in which Thranduil just ordered him to follow, but knowing it would not bode well for anyone to further enrage the king by disobeying his command. With a gentle squeeze of Legolas's shoulder, he followed the elf king to meet whatever other warriors he had assembled for him. 

When the two left, Gandalf sighed as his judicious eyes rested on the elves in front of him. Cièdron, still gripping his brother's arm, now had his other hand behind Legolas's head, gently massaging the back of the elf's neck and examining his bruised cheek. He spoke softly and soothingly in elvish, the melodious words offering a meditative effect.

"Peace, Legolas, peace. You know Ada is not ignoring this, you know that. He does not tell us everything because he wishes to keep us safe. 'Tis all it is brother." Cièdron frowned at the prince's darkening, burning cheek. Did that heat emanate as a result of the prince's fury, the slap, or poison delivered to him from the spider?

"Cièdron, does it not bother you he neglects to tell us anything? Does it not bother you he had no response whatsoever to us telling him we just killed two deadly spiders? That instead he takes Aragorn away for some….secret meeting?!?" Legolas ripped his arm away from his brother and began to march towards the other end of the throne room. 

"Legolas wait!"

"You are as bad as he is Cièdron! Why did you not tell me yesterday you killed a spider! Instead you take out your anger on Alasse!" Legolas shouted back over his shoulder.

Cièdron's eyes flashed and he gritted his teeth. "You are a fool Legolas. You know not what you speak of."

"Don't I?" Legolas challenged.

Cièdron briskly caught up with his brother and roughly pulled him to a far corner of the room, sheltered somewhat from the surrounding festivities by a cluster of shadowy birches. 

"I know what is happening Legolas," he hissed. As Legolas raised his eyebrows questioningly, he continued in a hoarse whisper. "I know because I can be as stealthy as you, brother – you think you are the only one who can remain hidden in the trees, unnoticed by even the best of our guards? Nay, brother, Ada may not tell me much more than he tells you, but I have spied much more than you have. The Nazgul have reoccupied Dol Guldur, Legolas and in case you have not noticed, Velsier and Reanur and a host of other warriors have yet to return from their patrols of southern Mirkwood. That is why the darkness has grown so sharply as of late and why Ada has called on Mithrandir. I suspect that is also why he has requested the service of the Lord of the Dunadain and is now introducing him to our own warriors. He is planning something, Legolas. He is planning a scouting mission I suspect, perhaps even more."

Legolas tensed. "You know this for sure, Cièdron?"                

"Aye, I do. And the reason he has not told us is because he fears we will want to join Aragorn…. Which is absurd, of course. Why would either of us join him when we have some of the finest warriors willing to accompany him…" Cièdron paused as Legolas quickly looked away, staring distractedly at the ground.

"Legolas! Legolas look at me! Do not get any ideas brother! You will stay out of this!" Cièdron grabbed Legolas's arm and started when his brother winced in pain.

"Your wound! Ai! I had forgotten!" 

"It is nothing Cièdron! Leave me be." Legolas walked slowly away to a nearby birch where he slid down against its smooth white trunk into a sitting position, his head in his hands. Cièdron followed suit, and the two sat in silence, as music and dancing filled the tense air around them.

Gandalf had been watching the two closely, but vacillated over joining them. It was rare the two brothers did not fight bitterly and he wished to give them some time to discuss between themselves the troubles that plagued them.  __

Legolas's outburst had stunned the wizard. Thranduil's youngest was well known for his calm, lighthearted countenance.  True, the elf had some bitter conflicts with his impervious father, but never had he seen him so incensed. Gandalf would have expected such an outburst from the short-tempered Cièdron perhaps, except that Cièdron was much more fearful of Thranduil's wrath.  The wizard sighed. _The darkness is taking its toll on Legolas as well. He and Aragorn have changed much in these past few years and I fear the oncoming battles will strain their spirits more than they could have ever imagined. _

Watching as the two elves leaned against a birch, Gandalf decided it was time to speak to both of them.  Grabbing a goblet of wine as he headed towards them, he was suddenly stunned by a projectile flying into his chest, causing him to drop the goblet to the floor where it shattered to countless sharp pieces in a pool of red wine.

"Well, what in Middle Earth…" Gandalf grumbled as he searched the ground for the mysterious weapon, too distracted to even notice the broken goblet. Instead, his eyes rested on a carrot, resting innocently on the ground next to the shattered goblet.

"Hmph… that is most peculiar…" Gandalf scanned the room for a possible suspect, but not one elf seemed to take notice of the perplexed wizard too busy they were in their own merriment.

"Wood-elves…" Gandalf muttered contemptuously under his breath as he continued on his path to where Cièdron and Legolas were reclining.

Cièdron turned to Legolas, a shocked look on his fair face. "Legolas! I can hardly believe it! You actually got through to Alasse! Why, she made a perfect shot at Mithrandir with that carrot!"

Legolas dully looked up and studied Alasse, who for someone who just made a perfect shot, looked rather baffled. She was struggling to explain something to a young elf beside her. 

Following her brisk glances towards Gandalf and Alasse's older brother, Ulinor, standing approximately five meters to the left of Gandalf, he was able to surmise the cause of the young elf's confusion.

"Nay, Cièdron, she was aiming for Ulinor. But her arrows, or in this case, carrots, always fly towards the most important person in the vicinity no matter where they are standing.  Should we ever bring her into battle, it would be wise for us to have Glorfindel or Galadriel stand as close as possible to the enemy. If they can jump away swiftly enough, she will be a great success indeed."

Cièdron looked quite bemused by this, but did not have a chance to reply as Gandalf suddenly appeared before them, still scratching his chin in bewilderment at the unexplained flying carrot. He then gave up on that mystery and gazed down at the two elf princes.

"Well, well, well… That was quite a scene you made there Prince Legolas," the Istari noted flippantly. 

When neither one answered, Gandalf continued in a more solemn tone, "Neither of you should be offended by your father's reticence on these issues. You have my word, he is not standing idle as this foul fate befalls us and he intends on telling both of you everything. He holds back out of concern for you, for you have both seen so much evil already. He does not wish to lay anymore burden on your shoulders."

"But the burden is as much ours as it is his! Rightfully so, because we are as much attached to this land as he is! And Cièdron is the crown prince! What if something should happen to Ada! Cièdron should know everything Ada does!" Legolas argued heatedly, the passion rising in his normally soft spoken voice. 

Gandalf eyed Legolas closely, barely giving notice to the elf's resurging fury. "Aye, that is true Legolas. And what of you? Cièdron stays because as crown prince, he must, as long as he can.  But that does not explain you young elf. Why do you choose to stay and why should you share the same information as your father?"

Cièdron stiffened and peered at Legolas. '_Mithrandir, what are you doing! Do not put it in his head to sail West!_' he thought anxiously to himself. Truly, Legolas's and Cièdron's relationship was a most odd one. Though they fought endlessly, neither wished for the other to leave Mirkwood.  Perhaps they worried they would no longer have anyone to fight with, but more likely, deep down they knew they only really had each other. 

Legolas cocked his head and gazed placidly at the wizard, his fury inexplicably draining from his tired body at Gandalf's serenely composed question. "I do not know why I choose to stay Mithrandir. It is inevitable I will one day sail West as that is the fate of all the elves, but for now the thought of leaving Middle Earth is unbearable to me. There is too much left for me to see, too many woods and lands I long to visit."

Gandalf nodded as if he had been expecting this answer all along. "Aye, that is what I thought Legolas. And though you speak of this for the first time to me now, do you know that I have always known this about you? Since I first met you, I have known you would have a part to play in Middle Earth's fate. So you need not be upset by your father's current reluctance to involve you in her affairs. That will change very soon Master Greenleaf."

Legolas's expression still retained the same placidity as when he answered the wizard before though his bright eyes focused on Gandalf's as if trying to read further into the Istari's mind. Cièdron furrowed his brows and stared gapingly at the wizard. Whether he was envious of Legolas or frustrated by the wizard's enigmatic words, he did not reveal. 

The three did not notice as Thranduil returned to the room without Aragorn, and went straight to his throne where he fell into his seat.  He had just brought Aragorn to meet with Bratherond, one of his best archers, after of course Legolas. The two seemed to hit it off fairly well, despite the fact that Bratherond as usual, was his most 'charming' self. 

_"I do not like humans generally, but since you were raised by Lord Elrond, perhaps you will be less of a cad than the rest of them." _This had been Bratherond's snappish greeting to Aragorn. 

_"I do certainly try my best to not be a cad."_ Aragorn had wryly replied.

_"That is funny human. Come show me if your archery skills match your wit." _Bratherond then tersely replied, without the faintest hint of a smile gracing his lips. 

_'Yet Aragorn did go with him. So that must be a positive start to a relationship..._' Thranduil thought hopefully.  His eyes darkened when he noticed Legolas, Cièdron and Gandalf speaking softly on the other side of the room.  The nerve of his son accusing him of idleness when night after tortuous night he lay awake, feverishly contemplating the darkness and how to fight it! How dare he accuse him of indifference after all he had lost and with all that was now at stake! Just the memory of his son's piercing words caused the king's heart to race and his hands to tensely curl into tight fists. 

When Legolas noticed his father's return, he began to rise. "I think I will leave now…" But as he stood up, a rush of blood drained from his head and he suddenly felt a wave of dizziness overcome him. Swaying slightly he grabbed on to the birch to steady himself. Gandalf raised his eyebrows and Cièdron jumped to his feet. 

"Legolas, you fool! Your wound!" he gasped, grabbing his brother. But the dizziness rapidly ebbed and with it Legolas regained his stubbornness. 

"Cièdron, I told you! Leave me be! It is nothing!" 

"What is nothing, Legolas?" Gandalf queried reaching out for the elf's arm. 

Legolas snapped his hand back, not allowing the wizard to see it. "It is nothing! Please, I only wish to be alone now!" But upon glimpsing the worry etched into Cièdron's face and the grimace of pain in Legolas's as he pulled back his arm, the wizard straightened his back and his eyes gleamed dangerously. 

"LEGOLAS GREENLEAF, YOU WILL NOT ACT THE FOOL. NOW SHOW ME YOUR ARM." Cièdron cowered slightly as the wizard appeared to grow taller with his wrath, his powerful voice reverberating throughout the room. A few elves fell silent, but most continued with their conversations, having grown used to the multiple outbursts by the members of the royal family this evening. 

Legolas's jaw tightened and he backed slowly from the wizard. 

"I promise you, if I feel ill, I will go to the healer, but now I only wish to be left in peace," he said sternly through clenched teeth as he turned towards the door. 

Cièdron grabbed his brother again. "Legolas this is absurd! Clearly you are not well!" 

"Cièdron, you oaf, get off of me!" 

Gandalf glowered as the two gravitated towards yet another scuffle. Studying his staff, and then Legolas, and then Legolas's wound which revealed itself when Cièdron seized him and was now sprouting unattractive purplish-green lines underneath the elf's fair skin, Gandalf made a quick decision. 

"Legolas, you will come voluntarily with me to the healer…."

Legolas did not answer, but continued to glare at his brother.  As he wrenched himself free from Cièdron's iron grip and turned again towards the door, Cièdron leapt at him and once again Legolas struggled vehemently against his brother. 

"…Or I will take you there by force," the wizard finished, thinking ironically how in a way though he was about to save the elf's life, he was also getting his revenge. _Two birds with one stone…_

A sudden sharp pain ripped through Legolas's head causing blackness to settle over his eyes as he fell in an unconscious heap at Cièdron's feet. 

Cièdron froze and gaped at his supine brother. Then he looked up to see Gandalf slowly lowering his staff. 

"You… you…" Cièdron's eyes darted from the wizard to his brother.

"Yes I struck him," Gandalf answered Cièdron's unspoken question (or rather accusation). "That wound is serious Cièdron, and there is no time for such childish brawls when in but an hour's time, Legolas will find himself in an eternal sleep from the poison in that spider's venom." As Gandalf spoke, he bent down to lift the limp elf. "Now you will take us to the healer."

Thranduil had been watching his sons disdainfully as they began yet another squabble.  

"By orc and warg!" Thranduil hollered when he saw his youngest son collapse after being walloped by Gandalf's staff. In a blink of an eye, he was at the wizard's side as he carried Legolas towards the door.

"Mithrandir! By the Valar! You… Why… By Elbereth, Mithrandir, you just struck my son!" the shock of this act of violence by the wizard against the very son he claimed to have such high hopes for left the king speechless and caused his voice to practically squeak.

"I saved your son's life Thranduil, for the poison in this wound will soon overtake him if he is not healed promptly, and being as obstinate as you are, he would not let us treat it." Gandalf took no time to wait for Thranduil's answer, but instead hastened to the door. 

Thranduil's feet grew heavy and he found himself rooted to the ground. Gandalf's words seeped in heavily, their meaning like poison to the already beaten king.  As the wizard retreated through the doors, he caught a glimpse of his pale son bruised by his own hand, sodden with grape juice, scratched and disheveled by his struggle with the spider and worst of all – the web of spidery green, yellow and purple arms reaching away from the pus that oozed from a gaping wound on his son's slender arm.  How had he not noticed this before? _Had I not blew up at him, had I paid more heed to his concerns about the spider, had I not so quickly diverted my attention to Aragorn, perhaps I would have noticed – perhaps he would not have felt the need to rebel so stubbornly against the offerings of help by his brother and the wizard…_

Cièdron tentatively approached his father. "He will be fine Ada. Once the poison is retracted Legolas will recover rapidly – I predict he will be flying out of the healer's room in but a few hours, as if he merely had a splinter removed." 

Thranduil faced Cièdron, his face drawn with worry. "Nay, Cièdron this is only the beginning. I fear worse will soon befall him."

TBC

**RainyDayz****: Thank you thank you thank you!  You crack me up! Thank you for such flattering reviews… *grins sheepishly* **

**Dot**:  You are also too kind! Thank you! 

**Lyn:** thanks for the info! I had a gut feeling it went something like that. Where did you get that info from?  (I will never cease to be amazed by the amount of Tolkien scholarship out there). 

**Maranwe****:  A pre-emptive review? Hehe… Well, that's different, but thank you!**

And thanks to everyone else who reviewed as well! I'm too tired now to go back and re-read the reviews so I could respond, but I do appreciate them so much. Nothing works better to get myself to keep writing. 


	7. A Promise and a Threat

Well, well, well… what have we here…. Chapter 7!

Disclaimer: Seven chapters in, and they're _still not mine!_

**A Promise and a Threat**

Aragorn breathed a long sigh of relief as he reentered the throne room after having spent three of the longest hours of his life with Bratherond, one of Thranduil's guards and apparently a proposed companion for his scouting mission. 

The elf, not believing even a lord of the Dúnedain would be competent at anything and would be as helpless as a hobbit on an oliphaunt, tested Aragorn's archery, tracking and sword fighting skills diligently as the festivities carried on in the throne room. Even when Aragorn bested him in a duel, repeatedly struck the targets dead center, and succeeded in at least figuring out what area of the wood Bratherond was hidden, if not the exact tree, Bratherond continued to doubt the human.

_"And what if we are trapped deep in a mine, with no light upon us, and hundreds of rabid goblins are attacking from every corner as a fire rages, and the ring is within your grasp. Tell me human, will you be able to strike your targets, survive the fire, and resist the ring? Or will you fail, as humans so often do?" _

_"Well, I am sure if there are hundreds of goblins at such close proximity, the laws of probability will work in my favor and at least a few of my arrows will strike their targets, even if we are in the dark. And if I cannot see the ring, it will not be so easy for me to grasp, particularly when my head is about to be severed from my neck by this onslaught of rabid goblins. As for the fire, I fear my flesh and bone are not resistant to it and there is not much I could do about that," _Aragorn had dryly answered.

_"No, there wouldn't be much you could do about that Human, would there…"_ the elf had nearly sneered in return causing Aragorn to musingly cock an eyebrow. Though tempted as he was to inquire about the ability of elven flesh to resist flames (and he half expected Bratherond to claim they could in fact walk through fire, and perhaps on water as well), Aragorn decided it would behoove him to hold his tongue. Thus, the testing continued for another couple of hours until finally Bratherond was satisfied, or as close to satisfied as was possible for the elf.

_"Well human, it appears you can shoot an arrow.  I suppose you can survive a short while at least in the wild."_

_"Actually, I have been traveling in the wild for six years now," _Aragorn reminded him, forgetting that for elves six years were but a blink of an eye. 

_"As I said human.__ A short while. I could hold my breath and stand on one foot for six years. 'Tis nothing to me."_ Bratherond replied haughtily as he turned and headed back to the palace.

_"I should enjoy seeing that,"_ Aragorn muttered under his breath, though this time he did not forget he was in the company of a being who could hear a baby sneeze a league away.

Bratherond turned and scolded the human as if he were a child. _"I heard that human!!"_ __

Aragorn shook his head at the memory of the past three hours. "I would rather fight an onslaught of rabid goblins with my hands tied behind my back then spend a prolonged period of time with that elf!" he uttered as the doors shut behind him. 

The ranger frowned confusedly as he scanned the deserted throne room.  With the exception of a few grave looking dawdlers, the heap of festive elves had dissipated, leaving behind a mess of half eaten platters, empty goblets, doleful streamers waving faintly, and lonesome birches.  As he explored the remnants of the celebrations, he could hear his own soft footsteps muffled on the mossy ground and the swish of his overcoat against his legs filling the vacuous silence.  Upon finding no indication of Gandalf, Thranduil, Cièdron, or Legolas, Aragorn's stomach twisted in worry. It was far too early for the feast to have ended and surely one of them would have waited for him…

***

_'Ai!__ Cièdron must have pushed me out of a tree again!'_

Legolas grimaced at the hammers and axes pounding against every bone in his body. His skull felt too small for his brain and his muscles seemed too tight for his limbs, with the exception of his left arm which he barely felt at all.  How did this happen? The last thing the elf remembered was struggling against Cièdron….

_'By Elbereth, if I open my eyes and I see Cièdron looking smug at having bested me, I will tie his hair to a spider's web.'_

Too exhausted to go through the effort of having to seize Cièdron, find a web, tie his hair to it and then make sure no spiders actually killed him, Legolas decided a threat instead should suffice. 

"Cièdron, I do not know what you did to me, but I swear on the Two Trees of the Valar, I will tie you to the back of a warg holding a stick with a dead rabbit dangling in its face for this." Legolas had not yet opened his eyes and he flinched in surprise when a hand, not Cièdron's, rested on his shoulder.

"I always did admire the creativity of elves. I will inform Cièdron of this, though I do think it is rather hasty of you to pass judgment, Thranduillion, when it was not he that decided the only way to get you here was to knock you out first."

Legolas's eyes snapped open.  Anyone else might have been stunned by the bright blue eyes that unexpectedly revealed themselves, but Gandalf only smiled regretfully at the elf. 

"Forgive me, Legolas, but you were being far too obstinate for your own good. I had no choice, for you were like an injured bird that refused help so that he could fly again. The poison has been retracted though now, and I suspect you will be completely healed shortly." 

A flash of confusion pricked Legolas's eyes before memory burrowed her way back into his throbbing head.

"You hit me Mithrandir!" Legolas's eyebrows furrowed and his voice seemed to barely find its way out of his throat. "And so did Ada." 

Legolas's hand automatically massaged his bruised cheek and he noticed the thick bandages gently wrapped around his forearm.  The elf gazed curiously at this, as if they had always been there and he only just noticed them. He then limply dropped his hand.  

"Yes Legolas I hit you. The pain in your head now is far less than the pain that that poison would have caused you." Gandalf stated matter-of-factly as he helped him sit upright against the billowing tower of pillows.

"And the poison that spilt forth from your tongue rendered the other hit," a low voice, tense as a pulled bowstring yet silky as pudding, added.

Thranduil rose majestically from his seat in the far corner of the room and stepped towards Legolas's bed.  The king's face remained unreadable as he studied his injured son, propped up against three giant feather pillows and protected by a plethora of colorful knitted blankets.  Legolas avoided his father's eyes and continued to stare solemnly at his bandaged arm, the ultimate testimony to the difficult two days he had, until Thranduil's own deceptively youthful hand rested over it. 

Like a feather, Thranduil's fingers brushed gently against the bandages making their way to his son's hand. The feather became a warm weight as the king delicately pressed the hand beneath it.  Yet his eyes remained distant and inexpressive.  Legolas's words, like daggers, remained embedded in Thranduil's heart and Legolas could not retract them as easily as the healer had obliterated the poison creeping up his arm.  A moment passed during which Legolas thoughtfully watched his father's hand over his own.  He then gently pulled back his hand, freeing it from the warm weight and leaving in its place a cold empty space. 

Without a word, the king remained still, his expression as blank as it was before – an empty slate underneath which lay myriad emotions. He then turned and quietly left the room, leaving Legolas and Gandalf alone in the heavy silence.

In a sudden ignition of frustration, Legolas slammed the bed beside him.  Like multiplying weeds slowly strangling a once vibrant garden, the aggravation and anger tugged at Legolas's spirit – spiders, shadows, Dol Guldur, Nazgul, his father's secrets… Cièdron's words whipped about his head like a violent tornado, uprooting the trees of all he held dear to him, all he thought he understood. 

"Mithrandir, why…"

Before he could finish, Gandalf raised his hand to the elf's lips, silencing the oncoming flood of questions and frustrations that his loose tongue, under the stress of the shadow, could not dam up. 

"Legolas, I know. I know what plagues you, I know your questions, and I may even know some of the answers, though they are not all for me to tell."

Gradually lowering his hand, Gandalf leaned in closer to the elf.  _Ah, how young he looks…. Legolas was a basketful of dichotomies, as so often was the case with elves. Though not in possession of the mystical insight that graced the elder elves of Middle Earth, the depth of his wisdom still matched the oldest humans.  Yet, in many ways, he seemed almost child like in his youthful countenance and his impulsive demeanor. And yet, Gandalf held little doubt that in a blink of an eye, this illusory 'child', this mist of youth, could reveal himself to be a lethal warrior.  But again, the lethal warrior would rather recline in convivial trees and play games with the effervescent night sky than kill his foes in battles. _

Legolas raised his eyebrows in an attempt to prompt the pensive wizard to speak.  Gandalf chuckled at the elf's impatience.

"Ah, Legolas, tell me, what are you, for elves are so many things at once, and never do I know for sure if it is a child or a sage, a warrior or a peacemaker I am speaking to."

Legolas cocked his head to one side, bafflement twisting his face. "We are none and yet we are all of what you describe, Mithrandir. One must be a child before they are a sage, and no sage will forget his childhood. A warrior who is not also a peacemaker will have nothing to fight for and a peacemaker who is not also a warrior will never be able to make peace. Mithrandir, indeed, I should ask the same of you, I would think? Who are you who strikes with his staff and brings us ill tidings, yet also a bag of fireworks, a pipe, and joy and hope to those who despair? Mithrandir, what is it you have planned for me?"

Gandalf started slightly at this sudden question, unexpectedly hurled at him. "Nothing is ever completely planned Thranduillion. Not even a wizard can read the future."

"You evade my question Mithrandir! I know you are no soothsayer. Yet you claim such knowledge of my future – you say my future lies beyond the limited knowledge my father bequeaths me.  You cannot foretell my own actions, only your own, and so you must have a role planned for me if you are able to say as much."

Gandalf grew serious as a decision played out in his mind. "Legolas, as Cièdron has already told you, spiders are not the only disease spreading in Mirkwood. Something much larger than spiders is afoot…"

A smile tugged at Legolas's lips. "Mithrandir, you are as sneaky as we are! You were eavesdropping on our conversation!"

Gandalf looked sternly at the elf, and reminded him, "Nothing is so easily hidden from the Istari, Legolas."  

With a swift clearing of his throat, Gandalf continued "Now I will tell you something I have not yet told your father Legolas. I have spent much of the day in the library, buried in books.  I do believe Legolas, it is not just the Nazgûl who are taunting Mirkwood…" 

Gandalf glanced about him and shifted his staff so that he could draw even closer to the elf.  As if he were telling Legolas where the ring itself was hidden, he uttered beneath his breath, "there is other evil beyond the borders of Mirkwood that will gather around Sauron. Humans _and _elves, those that were once, but no longer are, and those that still are. Now you tell me Legolas.  How brave are you? What terror and dismay are you willing to face for the sake of not just your home and not just the homes of elves, but for the homes of humans, of hobbits and of dwarves? It is easy to be brave for the ones you love – for your father, Cièdron, for Mirkwood. But what about those you do not love and those you have never met? What would you do for them?"

The wizard leaned back and pulled out his pipe. Through a thick wraith of smoke, he watched as Legolas dropped his gaze to his bandaged arm. A moment later, the elf raised his head with the nobility of a king and a stare as unflinching as a cat's. 

"I would go to Mordor and back with nothing more than my bow Mithrandir," Legolas firmly promised.

Smoke in the shape of a barge, smoothly flowed from Gandalf's mouth. The wizard's eyes sparkled in its wake and he again leaned in towards Legolas. With an ironic smile, he replied, "Your bow, Legolas, with you behind it, would be the greatest gift Mirkwood could offer to the races of Middle Earth."

With these words, Gandalf stood and patted the elf's shoulder. "Rest now, Thranduillion – you will need it," he commanded with a wink as he departed the room.

* * * 

Aragorn anxiously looked about him and turned towards the door when a stooped creature hiding in the nebulous shadows caught his attention. Upon closer inspection, he realized the being was an elf, squatting with his back against a tree, meticulously sharpening his dagger against a smooth piece of whetstone. 

"Legolas?" Aragorn called tentatively, not entirely sure the elf wanted to be disturbed, yet refusing to allow him to push him away without providing some sort of explanation.

The elf's head snapped up. "Legolas is not here, Aragorn." Cièdron's voice was heavy yet indecipherable.

Eager to learn what had happened to leave the throne room so empty, Aragorn jogged towards the elf.  Cièdron however ignored the human and remained absorbed in sharpening his knife.  It was not until Aragorn spoke that Cièdron again raised his head and acknowledged the ranger's presence.

"Cièdron, what has happened? Why have the festivities ended so abruptly?"

Cièdron considered Aragorn for a moment as if deciding whether he should inform him of the events of the past three hours. When he resumed sharpening his knife, he spoke.

"Legolas collapsed…He is fine," he quickly assured when he heard the ranger catch his breath, "it was Mithrandir actually…. Legolas is so stubborn and that poison was going to…" Cièdron trailed off, not wanting to even consider the 'what ifs,' "…anyway, he is in the healer's room now. I suspect he would be awake by now."

Cièdron never ceased working on his knife and he told this story to Aragorn as if he were reading off a list of chores for the day or some other such tedious event.  

"And the King and Gandalf are with him I presume?" Aragorn pressed when the elf again became taciturn. 

"I would presume."

Aragorn eyed the elf carefully, unable to decipher the vacancy of emotions in his words.  Seeing that Cièdron would not say anymore, he turned and left him alone with his dagger again.

Cièdron sighed and watched the ranger leave the throne room. It had taken every last ounce of willpower to control the emotions mixing in his soul like oil and water. 

What was it Mithrandir spoke of when he alluded to Legolas's fate in Middle Earth's future –beyond the affairs their father permitted access to?  His brother had just blatantly overstepped his bounds by speaking the way he did to Thranduil – whether he deserved the slap or not was debatable, but he did not exactly deserve a bout of greater responsibilities, a wizard's blessing… Did he? _And then what is my fate? __To continue dwelling in the shadows of my father and brother and the memories of Maegren and Feáner?_

These thoughts left Cièdron in a haze of dizziness as guilt for feeling even a hint of jealousy tore at his mind and heart. He loved Legolas and he worried about him – he did not want jealousy to sour his feelings for his brother, though his quick temper often failed to ease the rush of bitter feelings when Legolas's careless impulses led him to pulling such stunts as interrupting _*his* archery lesson._

Cièdron struck his knife against the stone a little more violently at the memory of Legolas's audacious interruption. _And then he goes and has Alasse hitting the target in but a couple of hours, while I must stomp grapes from the rise of the sun to the waking of the moon! Then he tells off _Ada___, and Mithrandir proceeds to foretell great roles for him!_

_And what are these roles Mithrandir speaks of and what are their costs? Ai! Will my brother be a sacrifice? A martyr? How much more must we give up? _

Cièdron paused and hurled the whetstone against a tree, its knock echoing eerily throughout the empty, forested room.  His aching head fell into his hands where it remained as the darkening night closed in around him and one by one, the torches were extinguished, their smoldering glimmers offering the last bit of cheer in the somber room. 

* * *

The blankets and pillows soon proved to be too constricting for Legolas. After shifting uncomfortably and attempting different positions – sitting up, lying down, on one side, then the other, then back to the first side – and then fluffing and adjusting his pillows, the elf gave up.

_'By Elbereth!__ This is absurd – a scratch on my arm and I am confined to a bed! I would sooner find sleep in a dwarf's mine!'_

Relenting in his futile struggle, Legolas threw aside his blankets and practically hopped out of the bed to stretch his sore muscles.  He then casually strolled out of the room – an inmate escaping the prison through the front door, though no one was there to notice. Nor did anyone notice as he walked down the empty corridors to his room where he grabbed his bow and quiver and then towards the thick, double gated doors that opened to the outside of the palace.  There, he did meet a few guards who raised their eyebrows curiously at the elf.

"Going somewhere Prince Legolas?" one tall, peacock of an elf queried.

"Aye." Legolas felt no need to elaborate as he pushed open the doors. This was his home after all, why must he explain each and every one of his movements?

"Prince Legolas, that is not wise! Let one of us accompany you at least!" the guard called out, shifting his quiver on his back as he prepared to follow the elf.

"Nay! I will be fine – I will not wander far from these walls, I only seek the fresh air and some solitude. If I do not return in an hour's time, then you may worry." By the end of this sentence, Legolas was already a far way off from the guards. The peacock one glanced worriedly at his companion unsure of what to do when a third voice stirred them.

"Do not worry – he will not be alone." 

Both elves whipped around to find Aragorn shifting his sword in its sheath. Their mouths fell agape – it was not exactly easy to sneak up on a wood elf guard, yet this _human had succeeded in taking both of them by surprise.  A strange smile played on the ranger's face – almost, but not quite a smirk. He then pushed through the doors, offering as much of a challenge as Legolas just did to the guards, daring them to stop him._

This time the peacock's companion spoke up. "Well then, that's taken care of, Käriler. Let him guard the prince and bear his wrath if he gets caught. These rangers may be good to have around. Makes our job little easier, no?"

Käriler frowned and returned to his position, admittedly relieved not to have to risk Legolas's tirade should he be found shadowing him. "Aye, but if something should happen to the ranger as well, I do believe we will be in even deeper trouble with the King. You realize we just allowed Thranduil's and Elrond's youngest wander out of the safety of this palace into a snake pit?"

The other guard frowned slightly, but then displayed a nonchalant grin as he leaned back against the wall. "Käriler you worry too much. We allowed the finest archer in Mirkwood and the Lord of the Dúnedain out into a darkened forest, not two children into the pits of Mount Doom."

Käriler still did not seem satisfied, but with a slight shrug, he relaxed against the wall, watching the door warily as if expecting it to burst forth any moment at the hands of an army of orcs.

Aragorn peered through the thick ocean of darkness, interrupted only by the soft glow of moonlight against the trees. The long fingers of a light wind crumpled the leaves like paper and shadows flitted across the ground. The ranger paused briefly then stealthily crept up to the tree he knew Legolas had just climbed into. 

Legolas's eyes widened slightly in surprise as the ranger grabbed on to a branch and lifted himself into the tree, not without a bit of a struggle and some elvish curses. Finally he succeeded in swinging his legs over the branch and with a grunt he sat up and leaned against the trunk next to Legolas, who appeared too comfortable to lift a finger to aid Aragorn.

"Well done Master Ranger! Is that your way of alerting every creature in the wood to our presence? If so, I am sure it was quite a success!"

Aragorn scowled. "It is not my fault you could not choose a lower branch." 

Legolas glowed from the gleam of the moon on his face and from the growing mirth within him. 

"If I had known I would be accompanied by a human perhaps I would have." Legolas paused and considered this for a moment, "or perhaps I would have climbed quite higher." 

"Well, I would have followed you then." Aragorn's tone of voice left little to be doubted in this statement. "So I see your wound has been taken care of…"

Like a plug being drawn from a tub releasing all its water, the mirth drained from Legolas. He glanced listlessly at his arm. "Aye, though Mithrandir has a funny way of healing – I think next time I will go straight to the healer myself instead."

"As you should have in the first place," Aragorn said pointedly, not completely succeeding in veiling the amusement in his eyes. 

Legolas's eyes turned from his arm to the moon. They grew distant as the elf retreated into himself, not really watching the moon, but rather wandering through his own elven reveries, though he was not actually asleep.  Aragorn sighed softly and looked up to the moon as well. The tranquil midnight blue sky engulfed the two, its flickering stars winking at them, mocking their limited knowledge of the heavens of which these ethereal bodies held all the secrets.  

 "Aragorn, I will go with you."

Aragorn turned, not quite registering what Legolas just said.

"What do you mean…"

"Bratherond will not accompany you.  He is a braggart anyway, and his company though helpful when battling orcs, will be a disease to your well-being otherwise. But I will go with you on this scouting trip my father is planning Aragorn, and even more than that. I will not sit idly as this shadow grows on Mirkwood. If anyone should fight for her, it should be me."

Legolas's eyes were no longer distant, they were determined as stone as they looked straight into Aragorn. The human dropped his head and gazed at his hands. His fingernails were jagged and dirty, and his skin was becoming leathery from its exposure to the elements, quite a contrast to the elves' milky, flawless facade.

"I do not know if that is a wise idea, Legolas," he uttered under his breath.

"And why is that?" the elf challenged.

"What of your people?"

"My people are dependent on my father and Cièdron for leadership. Perhaps they see me as a leader too, but not in the same way. I will never be king – or the chances, Valar willing, are slim at least. I must serve them in other ways – I am not here to entertain them at archery tournaments. My responsibility is larger than that. Besides, what right has an heir to the throne of Gondor, who has taken on the role of a ranger, have to tell a prince who is the youngest of six… " Legolas frowned and paused for a split second, "_four children, that he cannot risk his life."_

A familiar shadow passed over Aragorn's features – the shadow of remembrance that accompanied him always and remained dormant as long as he forgot who he truly was. 

"My life is not anymore sacred than your own. I would not hold my lineage up to such esteem," he frigidly replied. 

_There it is again! I will not let him get away with it so easily this time.  Legolas nimbly leapt from his branch to Aragorn's and his tall, slim body formed a silhouette in the moonlight directly in front of the ranger. He gazed down at him intensely. _

"Aragorn, why is it you hold such a low opinion of who you are?" 

"My blood is nothing to be proud of Legolas. Everyone speaks of the blood of kings as if it is gold, but it is not – it is tainted. The blood of kings alone should not be hope to anyone."

Legolas thought about this for a moment and nodded in agreement, "Aye, Aragorn, you are right. The blood of kings alone cannot be relied upon for hope."  The elf then squatted and peered closely at Aragorn as if trying to locate a spot on his face – physical proof of his faulty blood, a blemish or a stain. Aragorn watched the elf intrepidly. When Legolas failed in his search he whispered through a soft smile playing on his lips.

"But you are so much more than just blood Aragorn."

The elf reached out and placed a hand on the ranger's head like a mother trying to gauge her child's fever. 

"You are made up of a mind…" he said as he did this. Legolas then dropped his hand to Aragorn's chest. "And a heart." With his other hand, the elf gently lifted Aragorn's chin so that he could look straight into his smoky eyes. "And a soul." Legolas grinned warmly. "With a soul such as yours, Aragorn, Sauron's blood could flow through your veins and you would still be the greatest hope to man – but it is not Sauron's blood in your veins. It is Arathorn's and Gilraen's, and so many more great leaders and kings who you do not give enough credit to. It is not without reason we all place so much faith in you.  Do you think I would choose to follow any lone human, king or no? Nay Aragorn, I would not. I would follow _you_ though – even if you never regained the throne that is rightfully yours, you can always count on my bow to protect you, ranger."

Before Legolas could pull back his hand, Aragorn laid his own atop of it. He lifted it and firmly grasped it, palm to palm. He then laid his other hand on Legolas's and Legolas did the same so the two pairs of hands were locked in a solid grip promising that these two lives were now bonded in camaraderie. 

This handshake was a testament to their instant friendship and devotion to each other.  It may seem odd that the lives of two beings could become so immediately entangled, bounded by an iron contract of friendship, in just two days time. But how does anyone know when they meet another, be it a future lover or a friend, that this will be a person who will mark a watershed in their life? It is impossible to attribute to anything tangible or anything intangible the instinct one gets in the pit of their stomach when they meet a person who they know will impact their life. Such is the nature of Fate. She is indefinable in terms of space and time, nothing less than an inchoate ghost, yet so much more. Fate is like a vase that has been shattered into a million pieces, its remnants falling into each and every aspect of life, so that everything is connected and a few pieces are even directly connected like two neighboring pieces of a puzzle. When these two pieces find each other, it does not take long for them to know they fit together. They just know.

Thus, Aragorn knew the moment he caught sight of Arwen, his heart would never beat the same way again and anything he did would be in the lingering shadow of her love.  And when he met Legolas, he knew their lives were meant to cross paths as well, and in the elf he would find a loyal friend and fellow fighter – a companion who shared the same devotion to Middle Earth as he did, who would not give up fighting on her behalf even when all the elves have faded from this land. Even when nothing remained for the elf to fight for.

"I am honored," Aragorn finally replied sincerely, squeezing the elf's hand between his two. "Then there may yet still be hope for Middle Earth."

As they released their hands to grasp the other's shoulder, they did not notice as a frantic elf below raced silently towards the palace doors. 

* *

The same moon that shone on Aragorn and Legolas engulfed another elf in her radiant shimmer. 

After Thranduil had exited the healer's room, he ascended many flights of stairs and climbed numerous winding tunnels until he finally reached his own personal quarters – the only room in the entire palace that offered him the peaceful solitude and comfort that he had been deprived of for days now. 

The sight of his bedroom, spacious and regal, with an ebony bed cornered with four towering posts, vines, gold framed mirrors, and soft rugs, never failed to remind him of his long departed wife. The bittersweet memories had that rare, contradictory quality of bringing both loneliness and warmth to the King's heart like a withering flower in the fall that would bloom again in another season or a dying mother bird that has given birth to young hopeful fledglings. He ached for her, but he also stayed for her.  Thranduil refused to sail to Valinor only to tell her he had been defeated – Mirkwood had driven him out and Middle Earth's creatures were now slaves to the darkness their leaders failed to defeat. No, that would only break her heart all over again. 

Thranduil then walked over to his terrace. It was the only one in the palace and was kept strictly locked whenever he was not present.  Releasing the doors so that a rush of cool air brushed his face, he stepped onto the balcony and leaned against its railing, taking in the vast forest beneath him. Waves of leaves tumbled in the wind amongst sea of trees. Thranduil almost felt as if he could walk out and fall on top of those leaves and just continue walking, as if the forest's canopy was a field of rolling hills. Of course, being a wood elf, this idea of walking atop the leaves was not entirely infeasible. As Thranduil coolly leaned against his balcony, the delicate breeze teased his long hair, and his ice blue eyes stared into the night, seeing everything and nothing at once. The king looked every bit as regal as he always did – his nobility was as innate as the color of his eyes – but inside, his feelings crashed against each other in a tumultuous storm of regret, anger, confusion, and the worst feeling of all for any high-minded, estimable ruler – helplessness.

_I struck my own son. How could I allow my temper to control me like that? There is so much to fight against, and we are fighting against each other. Ai! What am I to do? How do we fight this, when there are so few of us left?  Such was the shifting nature of the king's thoughts. Though this stream of thought shifted, its water remained the same – worry. Worry about his sons, worry about Mirkwood, worry about himself.  How much strength did he have left before he simply could not take anymore?_

Thranduil's elven eyes could see the lands beyond the forest's borders and at times Thranduil even thought he could feel the sea though its waves lapped the shore hundreds of miles away from where he stood. Beyond those waters, his wife, oldest son and daughter dwelled in the undying lands, waiting for him to join them. At times, Thranduil could hear their call, the sea's call, beckoning him to leave behind these cursed lands. Times like these Thranduil could nearly weep at the ripping of his heart between these woods and the sea. Often he would have to close his eyes to remind himself of who he was – the King of Greenwood. 

Memories of Greenwood never failed to stifle the salty fresh air that tempted Thranduil's senses when the sea called to him and Thranduil would instantly lose any desire he had to sail West in favor of fighting to save these woods – _his woods, where his sons, who had not yet heard the sea's calling still placed so much hope. Thranduil loved Middle Earth and how he longed for the days his sons could enjoy it as he once had.  _Were it up to me they would not hear the calling for many ages to come. For one day this land will overcome this shadow and its treasures will fill their souls, giving them more joy than even Valinor could offer.__

Thranduil's eyes snapped open.  _No, I will never leave Mirkwood. I would only leave _Greenwood___. As long as she is suffocated by this shadow and must remain under the name of Mirkwood I will not abandon her. I will not abandon Middle Earth.  The king straightened resolutely.  Despite his son's accusations, he was not idle, nor would he ever be idle in this fight. And whether Legolas realized it or not, it was for him, Cièdron, and his other children, whether they were in the Halls of Mandos or the undying lands, Thranduil chose to stay and continue this struggle, as much as for the forest itself. _

The dancing stars and proud moon suddenly gave Thranduil a fleeting sense of hope. _We are not lost yet. As long as such beauty still exists in this land, there is hope. As long as I could still feel the moon's glow upon me, there is hope…_

A loud knock caused Thranduil to jump from his thoughts. He frowned at this interruption and waited a moment, hoping his visitor would give up and leave him in peace. But such luck would not grace him tonight as attested by another loud, urgent knock.

"King Thranduil! King Thranduil, I must speak to you! I have a message!"

Thranduil's brows furrowed as he headed towards the door. He recognized the voice to be Käriler's, his guard at the back door. Though a capable guard, the elf was notorious for his paranoia and constant worry. 

"A message? Are you certain it is so important it cannot wait until morning, Käriler?"

"Yes sir, I am quite certain!" 

When Thranduil opened the door, he found not one, but two elves waiting for him. Käriler stood tall and formal, as he always did, though his face betrayed his worry, which was clearly related to the disheveled elf next to him. Thranduil's eyes widened at the sight of the other elf.

"Actually, it is not I who holds the message, but Merionè," Käriler continued, watching the shock sink into the King's face.

"Merionè! You were lost! We had searched all over for you! By the Valar, what happened? Where are the others, do you know?? Mithrandir is here… we were going to search for you and the others…" Thranduil grabbed the warrior's shoulders as he struggled with the deluge of questions that arose at this sudden appearance of one of his missing warriors before him. 

"My King, it is good to be back… may I please sit… I am so weary…" Merionè answered breathlessly.

Thranduil released the elf and led him to a large, velvet chair. "Of course, of course, can I get you anything? Wine? Lembas? Water? Anything at all Merionè?"

Merionè held up a hand and shook his head as he sank into the plush chair.  "Nay, King Thranduil, I wish not to hesitate any more in delivering my message."

Thranduil froze in anticipation of the message. After quickly catching his breath, Merionè looked up at the King.

"I had been fighting off bands of orcs in the Southeastern part of Mirkwood with my own band of a dozen warriors. It had been a violent couple of days – spiders, orcs… the Nazgûl had reoccupied Dol Guldur…"

"Aye, I know, it had been reported to me. And Sauron has reoccupied Barad-dûr."

Merionè nodded. "I figured as much… Anyway, we weaved in and out of the shadows, fighting intermittently one evil after another. The worst of course were always the Nazgul…" Merionè shuddered as the name passed from his mouth. "One cannot imagine such evil – they can only experience it."

"Is that then what happened to you and the others? Did the Nazgûl murder them? Did they take them? How did you escape…" Thranduil halted when he saw the other elf shake his head fervently. 

"Nay, King Thranduil! It was not the Nazgul! They terrified us and came dangerously close to killing…or I should say enslaving… all of us. But no King Thranduil, the Nazgûl are not the only enemy at Mirkwood's borders." 

Merionè paused and studied the rug as he gathered his scattered thoughts. He then continued, "The Nazgûl and orcs pushed us out of Mirkwood, into the lands of Rhûn. In our endless battles, we continued east, past even the Sea of Rhûn." Merionè's wide eyes looked up from the rug at the king. "There were elves there, King Thranduil."

Thranduil nodded slowly, "Aye, Merionè, there are elves that dwell beyond the Sea of Rhûn, though we know little of them…"

Merionè interrupted, "It was a small clan, though I suspect there are more similar clans. We were relieved to meet them, but our relief proved to be short-lived. Skirmishes erupted between them and my own warriors as they seemed to sympathize with Sauron, something which obviously did not bode well with any of us. Strange fates then began to befall each one of my elves."

Merionè's voice quavered as he continued and he wrung his hands nervously. "One by one, and very gradually, my warriors became distant. Their wills to fight were sapped-some fell in fits of rage, others in fits of interminable sadness. I do not know why I was not a victim… I tried to get us out of those lands, but they did not want to leave! They suffered, King Thranduil, yet I know not what it was that tormented their souls! Something transfixed them, something lured them… And then one night, we were attacked. The fight was awful since not one of my elves actually desired to defend themselves! I do not know what fate then befell them for I was struck down rather quickly. When I awoke, I found myself alone in a deserted cave – not a sound echoed in its walls and I was in despair for I knew not where I was or where to go. But then a hooded creature approached me– I do believe it was one of those dark elves of the Rhûn, though I cannot be certain it was even an elf… It gave me this and told me to bring it to you. He refused to tell me any more though I begged for news about my fellow warriors. The creature just led me to the mouth of the cave and pointed in the direction of Mirkwood so that I could swiftly return to you. And he told me not to look into the bag before you did…"

Merionè held out a rolled up scroll tied with a gold string and in his other hand, he held a small light bag. His hand shook as he gave the scroll to Thranduil. "This was three days ago. I have been traveling by night and day without sleep ever since."

With great trepidation, Thranduil took the scroll and unrolled it, quickly scanning its contents. His eyes moved rapidly as he read and when he reached the end they darted quickly to the top to reread the note.  His already pale face turned ashen as if the last of whatever blood that previously flushed his cheeks was drawn out by the leeches within the scroll's words. With trembling hands, he returned the letter to Merionè and took the bag in exchange. 

Merionè stared at the scroll in his hands as if it may jump up and bite him and then with great dread, read the note that had so affected his king. The words were elegantly written in clear, perfect Sindarin:

_To the King of the _Woodland___ Realm, Mirkwood, formerly __Greenwood__ the Great:               _

_How much longer will you resist, King Thranduil? You know you cannot fight what is inevitable. The sun will soon set on the time of the elves and only one power will rule over these lands with an iron fist. Thus, three choices stand before you. You can sail West with your people and abandon these woods as so many elves have already done. Or you can grasp the opportunity to wield great power in service of Lord Sauron.  Should you choose neither of these, you will choose slavery for not just yourself, but your people as well. The time when you must make your decision is drawing near.  I send you this messenger to inform you of the fates of those who already foolishly chose the third option.  Will you damn the rest of your people by following in their paths? You are wiser than that. Why continue to fight a losing battle?_

The author did not sign this letter, thus leaving Merionè and Thranduil clueless as to who it might be.  Merionè glared angrily at the letter. 

"Ha! He sends me to inform you of the fates of my warriors, yet I do not even know their fates for they struck me down before I could see for myself and they refused to tell me later! They are fools indeed! Do they really think they could intimidate you with such a message…." Käriler's gasp interrupted Merionè and he fell silent when he looked up at Thranduil. Merionè's mouth hung open in mid sentence as if time had stopped leaving them all frozen in a terrible caged existence. 

Thranduil too remained perfectly still except for the trembling of his hand, which he held out in front of him.  The bag dropped to the floor as every other muscle in Thranduil's body fell limp. 

A small silver brooch, carved in the shape of two leaves bordering an arrow – the emblem of the wood elves worn by all of Thranduil's warriors - lay in his outstretched palm.  But it was not the brooch the three pairs of sharp elven eyes focused on fearfully. A long golden braid, glimmering in the moonlight that crept in from the balcony, dangled loosely from the brooch over the edge of Thranduil's quivering hand.  The three stunned elves remained motionless for several long moments. Finally breaking free of the trance that held him, Käriler dropped to the floor and violently grabbed the fallen bag.  He opened it up and pulled out another braid… and another…and another….

When Käriler was done, at least fifty braids lay scattered on the floor around them. Käriler held one up in disgust. "Thranduil! This brooch is stained with blood!" He dropped down again and continued to study all of the brooches. "Ai! They are all stained with blood!"

Merionè gaped at the braids. "Fifty…fifty! I only had twelve… I only had twelve, King Thranduil!" Merionè shook his head disbelievingly. "Where are they now?" he whispered. "What did they do to them?"

Thranduil did not answer. The King stood silently for a moment before collapsing hopelessly to his knees, cradling his head in his hands, which still held tightly to the first braid pulled out of the bag. The two other elves watched in dismay as their aggrieved King crumbled in despair in the midst of fifty of his own warriors' braids, scattered like fallen soldiers on the lushly carpeted floor of the King's own bedroom. 

TBC

Its done its done! I've been apartment hunting, which as it turns out, is a 24/7 job – whenever I get home & try to write, I end up dreaming of big, beautiful spacious apartments, clean & shiny and new, overlooking the water and me there sipping French wine and hanging up my paintings on my 15 foot high freshly painted walls. Then I remember… I am a poor student and such apartments do not exist for us. We get the rat infested closets and generic beer. Sigh.  

Reviewer, reviewers, reviewers… ahhh, what would I do without you? (actually, I'd probably stop writing) You guys are wonderful – Dot, RainyDayz, Mer, Maranwe, and everyone else, thanks! I wasn't that happy with the last chapter because I hit my first major writer's block, but reviews help so much to overcome that! And I've been reading many of your stories, and all I have to say is wow- it's so cool to have such good writers review me! 


	8. Not One, But Two

Chapter 8! You ready? This is a long one guys….

Disclaimer:  Nope, not mine.

**Not One, But Two**

Into the late hours of the night within the annals of Thranduil's library, Gandalf wore out the rugs beneath his feet with his rampant pacing.  His nervous hands scratched his chin and restless eyes glanced sporadically at opened books and scrolls, laid flat on the tables. A few pitiful torches offered a murky glow, though the wizard still had to strain his eyes to read through the veil of dust and darkness of night cloaking the books. It had been a couple of hours since he had left Legolas alone in the healer's room with his command to stay there and rest. _Which means he should be halfway to Rivendell or Laketown by now, or perhaps out searching for more spiders…Gandalf smirked faintly at the certainty that the elf would not only not obey his order to rest, but would doubtless find some other way to get himself in trouble. _Ah, but I would have him no other way...__

But now was not the time to contemplate Legolas's recklessness, not when so many other mysteries and troubles perplexed the restless wizard.  It simply did not make sense that the Nazgûl or Sauron were taking Thranduil's elves, dead or alive. Of course, it would make perfect sense if they killed them, for such would be the nature of these evil beings, but to take them, or their souls? Why now? Why when the ring had passed over the Anduin?  He and Thranduil both thought perhaps Sauron was using his elves to create more orcs, but did Sauron or the Nazgûl even have the power to do this? Only once before had an evil power twisted the minds of elves to become such vile creatures… Could it really happen again?

Or perhaps the elves were victims of a necromancer and their souls were being enslaved. This did not sit well with Gandalf either though. Again, why would Sauron care about gaining a few more helpless souls when the ring was no where in his grasp?

Or was it?

Gandalf ceased his pacing as Aragorn's words raced through his head. _All we know is that Dol Guldur is reoccupied by Nazgûl and Sauron has reoccupied Barad-dûr. Everything else is merely hypothesis. Including Saruman's testament that the ring has passed over the sea…._

"And it cannot be denied Sauron is strengthening as we speak…" Gandalf muttered softly, reiterating Thranduil's words. "He may be seeking to intimidate an already fading race…Or maybe he is not aware of the ring's passing and believes it is somewhere in Mirkwood… or with someone in Mirkwood…" Gandalf's eyes grew dark and he became completely still.  The faint hissing and crackling of the smoldering torches were the only answer to Gandalf's meditations - and to the sudden surge of doubt that struck his heart with a million needles and turned his knees to rubber. 

 "Or maybe Saruman was wrong," he whispered.

His eyes darted around the room frantically and he continued to mutter, "No, no, it cannot be…" But could it be? Was it possible that one of the Istari, the great wizards sent from the West to offer their inestimable wisdom to the foundering races of Middle Earth could unwittingly make such a grievous mistake? Or wittingly?

"No!" Gandalf shook the incongruous thought from his head. If a mistake was made, surely it was unwittingly – surely Saruman was unaware. 

But as the books and scrolls scattered on the table reminded Gandalf, Sauron and the Nazgûl were not Mirkwood's only potential enemies. _Perhaps we are on the wrong path completely… Perhaps the elves' disappearances have nothing to do with the Nazgûl… _

Gandalf's eyes glazed over a few of the books. There were the Easterlings, the peoples that lived beyond the Sea of Rhûn, even the Avari and parts of the Úmanyar, the lost elves who either never heeded the call of the Valar or who were sundered from the other elves during the Great Journey to Aman, far in the eastern lands. The men of these areas at least have been tormenting Gondor for centuries… 

Gandalf frowned. _Men taking Thranduil's warriors? No, this could not be…But what of the lost elves? Was it possible they too fell into the service of Sauron?_

"No, no, no… Alatar and Pallando are there to offer their wisdom and ensure they do not fall within the snare of the Enemy… They would not fail." Again, Gandalf found himself face to face with the possibility the other Istari have somehow failed in their missions and though he could not accept this so easily, doubt continued to swell in the depths of his heart.  

"It could not be the elves… and it could not be the Easterlings either. Then it must be the Nazgûl or a necromancer…" he tried to convince himself.

"Mithrandir!"

Gandalf's head snapped up at the sudden anxious call of his name. "Who beckons me?"

An elf servant rushed into the room, looking as if the palace was burning down and he had been racing to save Gandalf from it. 

"Mithrandir, the King requests you in the council room! Now!"

Gandalf calmly raised an eyebrow his face drawing in concern. "Indeed! At this hour? Did he say why?"

"I think it has something to do with Merionè's return, though I do not know for sure… but he ordered me to bring you to him immediately," the guard answered breathlessly, glancing about him nervously as if Thranduil might pop out any minute and scold him for taking too long in retrieving the wizard.

Gandalf dropped his hand from his beard and swiftly grabbed his staff. "Then what are you standing there for you fool of an elf! Merionè ?! You should have told me that immediately! Now hurry! Take me to him!" 

"Yes sir!" the guard stuttered as he dashed out of the room with Gandalf close on his heels. 

In the glittering council room sat the dreary woodland king, his mournful silence weighing heavily on his two accompanying guards. Thranduil spoke not a word after discovering the contents of the bag except to give an order for Mithrandir to meet them in the council room.  His tired eyes refused to tear away from the spectral, deathly braid cradled in his palm until Käriler finally wrenched it gently from the king. The three sat somberly as if they were visiting the Halls of Mandos themselves.  Indeed, the air even sang the saddened song of death, despair, and suffering. 

Merionè laid a hand on the King's arm. "King Thranduil, are you…"

Thranduil held up a hand to silence Merionè. "We will wait until Mithrandir joins us." The king's deep voice, though low, broke the leaden silence for a moment, but in that voice echoed centuries of pain. It was a voice that had lamented one too many battles and one too many deaths. 

 At last, Gandalf appeared in the council room, breathless, anxious, yet all the same, maintaining an air of sapience and calm. Upon seeing the despondent King, seated miserably in his bejeweled chair however, he straightened and apprehensively eyed the two other elves. His wise eyes then fell on the cloth bag and scroll resting innocently on the oak table in front of Thranduil.

"Thranduil? What has happened that you call on me when the moon is so high? What has come to pass in these past few hours that cannot wait until the sun has taken her place?"

Thranduil's eyes revealed little as his stare fell on the wizard, though his pale face attested to the severity of the situation before them. Without any further ado, Thranduil rose and presented the note to Gandalf. 

"This was delivered to me by Merionè." 

Gandalf warily gazed at Thranduil and took the note from him. Without another word, the wizard read its contents. Another long silence followed, during which Thranduil returned to his seat and closely observed Gandalf as if the slightest twitch could reveal the answer to his troubles. 

After reading the letter, Gandalf quietly took a seat, his eyes never leaving the venomous words written so gracefully in Elvish hand.  Finally, the wizard placed the letter on the table in front of him and returned his gaze to Thranduil.

"It is as I thought then. Mirkwood's enemies are more than just the Nazgûl of Dol Guldur," he breathed, more to himself than to anyone else in the room.

"_As you thought_? Remind me, when exactly you _thought this Mithrandir, and perhaps also why you did not wish to inform me of these omniscient musings of yours? For we certainly could have made use of this knowledge six months ago, before __this happened!"_

Like a covered pot of water coming to a boil, Thranduil could no longer contain the growing frustration and anger inside of him and his fury bubbled over, exploding against his self control. He jerked up from his seat and threw the bag at Gandalf so that its ghastly contents spilled before the wizard in a macabre pile of evidence of what happened to the lost warriors. 

Käriler jumped from his seat and grabbed the enraged King. "Peace Thranduil! It is not the wizard's fault!"

Thranduil breathed heavily and a second later melted into his chair, placing his head in his hand as he did so. 

"Aye, I know… Mithrandir, forgive me… I just…. I know not what to do! How many more enemies could Mirkwood stand?"

The elf-king paused and regained his calm. Then, raising his noble head from his hand, with a steely, powerful gleam restored in his eyes, he spoke again with a regal voice that belied the anguish lurking within his soul. 

"Mithrandir, I beg you to be frank with me. What do you know? I am asking for your help now." Thranduil gestured to the braids now scattered on the table. "Those are my missing warriors Mithrandir. What do you make of this?"

Gandalf stared numbly at the grim sight before him, then at the note, and then back at Thranduil. He shifted his staff, cleared his throat and much to the others' confusion, looked up towards the sky, searching the high chandeliered ceilings for an answer. _Sauron's__ forces are gathering. We cannot deny this truth any longer. If Mirkwood is a gauge, then all of Middle Earth, from Ered Luin to Gondor should now be quaking with anticipation._

Just when Thranduil did not think he could take any more waiting, Gandalf rose abruptly from his chair and turned his ageless gaze onto the king. 

"Thranduil, I will do whatever is within my power to help, but tell me first what _you make of this letter? Of these choices before you?" _

"What do I make of it?? What do you think I make of it Mithrandir!? It is clearly a threat! And by the souls of Maegren and Feáner, by the love of my wife and daughter, by the lives of my sons, I will not yield to such words! Nay, Mithrandir, if you think I will cower before Sauron, if you think I will give in to his wishes, if you think I will flee then you are mistaken! Nay! This letter is mistaken! It has left out a fourth choice and that is to fight the Enemy, fight him and drive him from _my_ wood and from these lands! THEY CANNOT GET AWAY WITH THIS." 

Thranduil's temper now exploded violently in a full fledged conflagration. As he spoke, his clenched fist pounded the table and his voice rose to a terrible fury that would put fear in the hearts of any living being. He lifted a braid and hurled it across the table.

Yet Gandalf remained perfectly still. Even as Merionè and Käriler rose from their seats, the wizard indicated for them to sit down and allow the King to release the storm that built up inside of him. When finally Thranduil exhausted his anger, he leaned his hands against the table and dropped his head. It was then that Gandalf stood and walked to the King's side, laying a hand gently on his back as he spoke.

"I never for a second thought you would yield, Thranduil. I just wanted to make sure _you remembered your strength."_

Exhausted, Thranduil again fell into his seat and the wizard returned to his own. 

Gandalf sighed. "It must be the lost elves beyond the Sea of Rhûn, Thranduil, for who else amongst the elves would be capable of such evil? They have fallen under Sauron's influence, yet how this could have happened I do not know since Alatar and Pallando were sent to the Rhûn to prevent such a fate from befalling them…"

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, "the blue wizards? Aye, I had forgotten about them – have you not heard from them since they traveled east?"

Gandalf shook his head. "Nay, I have not heard anything from those Istari sent East, save Saruman. Yet I cannot see how they would have failed …"

"Well clearly they have, unless this is their way of greeting their neighbors!" Thranduil seethed as he held up one of the braids. 

Gandalf continued, ignoring the elf's interruption, "though I suppose they may not have reached all the sects that dwell beyond the Sea of Rhûn…."

Thranduil sighed and dropped the braid. "'Tis nothing but suppositions…"

Gandalf gazed sadly at the King. "I do not know what else I can offer you…"

Thranduil smirked as a strange, sarcastic glow brightened his eyes. "A ring would be helpful. Perhaps if we could retrieve the One, we could destroy it and be done with this already… defeat Sauron once and for all."

Gandalf stared at Thranduil warily, a darkness glazing over the wizard's features. "It is not so easy as that Thranduil. Be warned! The One Ring is a curse, not a blessing! You would do well not to wish for it in your possession, for it will only bring pain and suffering to you and those you love, even if you did have the strength to destroy it!" 

Thranduil's previous fury ebbed as he was taken aback by the wizard's sudden passionate warning. He raised an eyebrow curiously and asked slowly and threateningly, "Do you think me so weak?"

"Nay Thranduil, but the ring is powerful. It could seduce the greatest of elf lords. I believe you could resist, though I would that you not be tempted in the first place. Such a fate I would not wish on anyone…"

Thranduil gazed keenly at the wizard, seeming to contemplate his words when he then turned to Käriler. "Käriler, go retrieve Bratherond and Aragorn. They should know of these occurrences as well."

With this order, Thranduil returned to his seat and awaited the rest of the council.

* * *

As Aragorn and Legolas headed back to the palace, a nipping voice in the back of Aragorn's mind wondered about a slip of the tongue Legolas had made earlier. _"a prince who is the youngest of six…. Four… children…"  Only a brief shadow passed over the elf's fair features before he corrected himself and Aragorn would have pressed him for a more detailed explanation had the timing not seem inappropriate. But then something clicked in Aragorn's mind. _The story he told me in the library… about the brothers…__

Aragorn turned to Legolas and was about to inquire about this when the blithe elf interrupted his unasked question with his own elven musings.

"Aragorn, what do you make of the stars? Do you perceive Elbereth there amongst them laughing gaily at us? I often wonder what she thinks when she watches us. I shall have to ask her myself one day, I suppose…"

"Is this what goes on beneath that pale hair of yours all day then?" Aragorn laughed, not having the heart to bring up Legolas's brothers at this time. He then followed Legolas's gaze, though he had little doubt what he saw was but an inkling of the splendid images beheld by his companion's elven eyes and so he returned his gaze to the path in front of them.

"You ought to watch where you are going mellonin. With your head turned up at the stars, you will miss the world before you and walk straight into a tree!" Aragorn warned, giving a sidelong glance the distracted elf.

"Nay Aragorn, I am an elf." 

"Ha! Is that your answer to everything then? So your elven eyes can see both above you and ahead of you?"

"No, but my ears can hear the trees and they will warn me if I am in danger of walking into them," Legolas stated simply, though his attention returned to their path.

Aragorn made no comment other than a half-hearted snort, suspecting the elf probably spoke the truth. 

When they reached the door, a frown fell on Legolas's face. "I hate reentering this cave. We belong in the trees, under the stars and the sun, feeling the grace of Manwë against our face, not underground like dwarves. This is unnatural to us," he lamented.

"These dark days will not last forever, Legolas," Aragorn replied as he pushed open the door. 

The elf spoke softly. "Nay, there are always the Havens."

Upon entering, Legolas glanced inquisitively at the lone guard keeping watch by the great oak door.

"Filinor, what has happened to Käriler? Did he at last decide to follow me, because I did not see him – or has he chosen to stay hidden?"

Surprise flitted over Filinor's face at this question. "Nay, Prince Legolas, he has gone to your father…he told me to give a message to Aragorn…"

"My father! Ai! Is he taking lessons from Cièdron? I am not a caged pet! I may come and go as I please! Why should he tell Ada?" Legolas inquired scathingly, ignoring Filinor's mention of Aragorn's message.

"What was the message?" Aragorn demanded, gently pushing Legolas aside.

Filinor looked even more startled and even a little frightened as he looked back and forth between the irritated prince and the impatient ranger. His mind raced – who should he answer first? Would it be worse to perturb the future King of Gondor or the Prince of Mirkwood? Both sets of eyes glared at him as he hesitated. The poor elf looked as if he would rather be swallowed up by the dark caverns behind him than stand here, the object of two very intense, very irritated stares. 

Legolas and Aragorn both let out an exasperated groan. "Filinor! What was the message?!" 

Filinor's wide eyes stared incredulously at the two of them. _Now they ask the same question… How flighty that prince's mind is! _Relieved to now have only one question to answer, Filinor related Käriler's message to them.

"Merionè has returned– I am surprised you did not see him actually when you were out there… Käriler has requested that Aragorn join him and King Thranduil in the council room immediately…"

Again choosing to ignore the fact that only Aragorn was referred to in this message, Legolas grabbed the human's arm and broke into a sprint. "Merionè!? This is news indeed! Thank you Filinor!" The elf called over his shoulder as he and Aragorn disappeared into the dim tunnels.  Filinor let out a sigh of relief at having succeeded at not angering either one of them and delivering Käriler's urgent message, straight from the king himself. _And the prince and ranger have returned unharmed, just as I predicted. I told Käriler he worries too much…._

Racing through the twisting corridors as if a hungry warg was let loose in the palace, the elf and ranger nearly crashed into Cièdron walking passively out of the throne room.  Shock fell on all three faces, and confusion etched Cièdron's own fair face.

"Legolas! Out to get your revenge on Mithrandir already? Could you not wait until morning?"

"Cièdron, you fool! Merionè has returned! Come!" Legolas practically shouted as he pulled on his brother to follow.

Cièdron's eyes widened and he joined Aragorn and Legolas in their race to the council room. "Merionè?! How do you know? Did you see him? Perhaps he brings news of the shadow!"

"Legolas, if you don't mind me asking… Who is Merionè?" the ranger panted as they approached the door to the council room.

"He has been patrolling southern Mirkwood for months… He is one of my father's top warriors."

As Legolas spoke he barged through the door with Aragorn and Cièdron close behind. 

An awkward moment ensued as the three regained their breath and returned the peculiar glances directed their way by the elves and wizard already seated at the long, gilded table underneath the glimmering chandelier. Thranduil sat at the head, again looking irked by his sons' abrupt interruptions, and Käriler and Merionè sat on either side of him. With his perfect posture, Käriler appeared as proud and formal as always, though worry painted his eyes. Merionè simply looked exhausted, though the sudden sight of the princes and Aragorn brought a flicker of surprise and amusement to his worn eyes. Bratherond sat next to Käriler, his own face betraying even greater annoyance than Thranduil, but then again, this was nothing unusual for the perpetually uptight elf.

Gandalf alone appeared unruffled by the sudden disturbance of Aragorn and his two uninvited guests. In fact, the wizard acted as if he were expecting them. Thus, he leaned back calmly in his chair and gestured towards the three.

"You are just on time. Please, take a seat."

Thranduil was not so congenial. After glaring at Käriler who was supposed to only bring the ranger, he turned his attention to his sons.  "Legolas, Cièdron, by all that is good and normal in Middle Earth, if you two do not learn to knock…"

"Ada, what is that?!"

Aragorn and Cièdron simultaneously whipped their heads towards the object of Legolas's distressed cry. Cièdron released a small gasp and Aragorn rushed forward to the seat across from Gandalf where he reached over and tentatively picked up one of the braids. The room fell silent as Aragorn whispered.

"These are the brooches of your warriors… what devilry is this?"

Legolas's eyes widened and he darted to Aragorn's side. His frantic tongue slipped into elvish as he rapidly interrogated his father.

"Ada! These braids? What is this? What has happened?"

"Sit down, Legolas," Thranduil commanded in elvish. "You too Cièdron… Aragorn… All will be explained, but I insist you first take a seat." 

The three reluctantly sat down though their eyes remained glued to the gruesome centerpiece.  When Legolas looked up, his father's piercing stare locked in his own gaze sending a shiver up his spine.  The young elf straightened and he gave a curt nod, which his father returned.  Though cold and formal, an unspoken truce passed between the two.

 "Merionè," Thranduil turned gracefully to the elf at his side. "Why don't you begin with your tale."

"Aye…" Merionè glanced about him nervously and proceeded to relate the strange adventures he and his warriors encountered.  Thranduil kept his eyes on Legolas, scrutinizing his reaction, but Legolas remained stoic throughout the tale, as did Aragorn. The king lazily moved his stare upon Cièdron whose self discipline also proved strong in the wake of all Merionè had to say.  

Aragorn's eyes rested on the spilt bag, unable to pull away. "And what did the scroll say?" 

In a swift, elegant movement Thranduil handed Aragorn the scroll.  Aragorn read it through once, let out a heavy sigh, and passed it to Legolas, catching Gandalf's eye as he did so. 

Legolas glowered as he read the note, but Thranduil raised his hand before the flash in the elf's eyes could materialize into another outburst. The prince pursed his lips and lifted his chin defiantly, but remained quiet. Cièdron reacted similarly and muttered "Velsier's and Reanur's patrols must have fallen as well…"

Merionè nodded solemnly and Cièdron passed the scroll to Bratherond, unable to control the tremble in his hand.

Bratherond, as Thranduil predicted, could not retain his fury. After a flow of elvish curses, and curiously, some dwarven ones as well, Bratherond pounded the table. His face the color of a cherry tomato, the incensed elf bolted from his seat and spat out furiously as he waved the note in a hysteric fit, looking a bit like a fish out of water flapping about on the shore.

"Thranduil! This is an outrage! The… the… THE NERVE!" a few more elvish curses flew forth, before Bratherond continued. "This is war Thranduil! WAR! We cannot allow such disgrace to fall upon the King of Mirkwood! This must be avenged! To speak to you like this… Truly, we cannot allow such _insolence…such _treachery_, such _impertinence_…"_

As Bratherond continued enunciating each offense rendered against the woodland King, Thranduil groaned and rubbed his pounding head. Gandalf sighed wearily and slouched in his seat, muttering something about foolish tantrums. Aragorn shook his head disdainfully and Legolas glanced awkwardly to the floor, fighting every impulse in his body to lash out at Bratherond. 

Cièdron gaped at the raving elf like he had suddenly metamorphosed into Sauron himself.  Finally he spoke up, his voice saturated with disbelief. "Bratherond! By the Valar…Why are you even here? You have no solutions, yet you have somehow managed to confound the problem with your incessant ranting! Peace, for pity's sake, before I take that scroll and stuff your insipid mouth with it, if that is what it takes to cease this torturous cacophony to my ears!"

A collage of stunned faces instantly turned on Cièdron. Even Thranduil could not control his shock and he remained speechless as he gaped at his son.  _Ai! That boy's temper! Even I am not so bad…usually…. _ True Cièdron had a temper_, _but most of the time, he kept that temper under some control when in the presence of elders, and he certainly would not under normal circumstances speak so disrespectfully to any of the high ranking guards. Gandalf opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when words failed him. Yet Cièdron's outburst did seem to serve its purpose when Bratherond looking as flabbergasted as ever, staggered quietly to his seat. With a faint smirk, Legolas caught Cièdron's eye and offered him a thankful nod.

Secretly grateful for Cièdron's eruption as well, Thranduil calmly continued with his council, "Well then… now that we are all aware of the note's contents… And as Bratherond so _evocatively_ reminded us, we will not – we cannot – allow ourselves to be threatened like this…But we know little of our enemies except that they sympathize with Sauron. Mithrandir believes the authors of this scroll may be among the Avari and Úmanyar elves that the Blue Wizards were supposed to attend to…"

 "Aye, Thranduil, that is correct. And that is why I suggest that Aragorn redirect his scouting mission further to the East," Gandalf resumed, his aged voice powerful and confident. He rose from his seat and motioned for Aragorn to do the same. 

"Aragorn, I trust you are prepared to go forth as soon as possible?"

"Aye, Gandalf, whenever you and King Thranduil will me to leave, I will be prepared…"

"And I will go with him." Legolas stood up boldly from his seat. A rush of murmurs between Merionè and Käriler, a hiss from Bratherond, and the shifting of chairs as Cièdron and Thranduil leaned forward in surprise answered Legolas's declaration.  

Besides Aragorn, Gandalf was again the only one who did not betray a hint of surprise. _And Legolas thought I could not foretell his actions…_

Despite a crooked smile bending the wizard's lips, he feigned a stern glare at the elf. "Legolas, I do believe it is up to Aragorn to choose his own companion, or so that is how I intended it…"

"Then I choose Legolas," Aragorn declared defiantly, his steely eyes locking on the wizard's own amused gaze.  Gandalf lifted his chin and eyebrows, and smiled knowingly. 

"Very well then… and so it shall be Aragorn, Legolas and I…"

"What!?" Bratherond sputtered, again rising from his chair, but his own outcry was drowned out yet again by Cièdron who bolted from his seat.

"NO!" Cièdron looked wildly at Legolas followed by Gandalf and his father. His face turned the color of fallen snow, and he gripped the table as if his life depended on it.

"Legolas are you mad!? No! No, he cannot go! Ada, he cannot go!" Cièdron turned to his father beseeching him to step in and put a halt to what in his eyes was complete and utter madness. But Thranduil did not look at Cièdron. The King's unreadable eyes rested firmly on Legolas.

"Ada! Ada, you would allow this!?! You will allow him to go!?" Cièdron gaped at his father. "Ada?"

Thranduil held up a hand to silence Cièdron, his deep blue eyes never leaving Legolas, and he spoke with utmost regality. "I told Aragorn he may choose any one of my warriors. It should be no surprise he has chosen my best, though a part of me wishes he had chosen another. Yet that is out of my control, for I will not go back on my word. Legolas will go." 

The King spoke with such finality even Cièdron could not protest, though not one of the other elves could believe their ears. But no one looked more shocked than Legolas. 

He had expected a fight. Surely, his father would not allow him to go so easily! Indeed Legolas had an entire argument prepared as to why he should accompany Aragorn, but now he had no need for it.  Thranduil had pulled the rug underneath the elf's feet, proving once again no one could outdo him in audacity, supremacy and the art of surprise. This feat was performed with the skill and grace of a seasoned performer and Legolas, for once, was left speechless, feeling every bit the young novice he was in light of his father's display of power and honor.  A newfound respect swelled in the prince's eyes, but his father seemed not to notice as he turned his firm stare to Cièdron, who would not relent so easily.

"Then I will go with him!" 

"Nay Cièdron, you will not!" Thranduil answered determinedly.

Now Bratherond roared. "I will go!!"                            

Thranduil glared at Bratherond, wondering why he had invited the cantankerous elf to this council in the first place. "Aragorn did not choose you Bratherond," the King hissed softly, fighting to retain a strain of diplomacy in his voice.

Bratherond's jaw dropped. "You would let an old wizard, a child and a human go alone on this scouting mission! Have you gone mad Thranduil!? Legolas knows nothing of the world outside Mirkwood, he is not prepared…" Legolas glared at the elf and looked ready to climb over the table to attack him when his father intervened.

"Bratherond I suggest you hold your tongue now before _I _stuff that scroll down your throat!" Thranduil snapped. 

With a loud 'ahem,' Gandalf brought the quarrelsome elves' attention to himself.  

"Bratherond you will not go with Aragorn and Legolas because I want you to scout Dol Guldur. We may have discovered a new enemy, but that does not mean we can neglect the old or that our older hypotheses have been proven wrong."

Bratherond seethed, "Forgive me, Mithrandir, but I do not take orders from you…" Gandalf cocked an eyebrow at this and shifted his staff, his soft eyes rapidly hardening with irritation at the elf.  Though he looked ready to answer Bratherond, Thranduil was again quicker in his chastisement. 

"But you will take orders from me, Bratherond, and I order you to heed the Istari's words as if they were mine – nay, as if they were superior to mine!" Thranduil's eyes burned dangerously as he spoke. Not wishing to push the King's patience any more, Bratherond reluctantly returned to his seat. 

"Very well, I will go to Dol Guldur."

"And Merionè will go with you," Thranduil added, to which Merionè stiffened and nodded his head obediently, "Yes my lord."

"And you will choose a third…"

"I will be the third," Cièdron resolutely announced. This time it was Legolas's turn to protest.

"Nay! Cièdron, you cannot!" 

Cièdron glared at his younger brother, "And why pray tell can't I, Legolas?" 

"Because you are the heir apparent, Cièdron!" Thranduil bellowed, rising out of his seat.

"And you were also when you fought in the War of the Last Alliance!" Cièdron shot back before returning his attention to Legolas. "Do you think I will sit here Legolas, while you go off and put your life at risk? Do you think I can just wait idly until one day I find _your braid delivered to our doorstep?!"_

"And so you will risk your own life as well!? Must I send both my sons off to such perils!?" Thranduil asked despairingly. 

"If something happens to Legolas while I am trapped here, you _will_ lose both of us!!"

Cièdron's words came with such force even Bratherond remained still and stared idly at his hands. Gandalf and Aragorn both sat down uneasily while Merionè  and Käriler watched in a deferential silence. Only the King and his sons remained standing.

Cièdron's words struck Thranduil like a bucketful of cold water and the King froze. His thoughts instantly focused on Maegren and Feáner.  Maegren had died of heartbreak when his brother died and Thranduil's daughter could not stand the sight of Middle Earth after witnessing her brother's death and not having done anything to stop it. Could Cièdron face the same fate? Thranduil's heart clenched. _No he will not, because we will not lose Legolas.  Yet Thranduil knew he could not only not hold Legolas back, he had no right to hold Cièdron back either. __They both must follow their own hearts. The only thing I could do to help prevent their hearts from breaking is to give them the space they need to breathe freely and do as their souls bid them. _

"Very well Cièdron," Thranduil finally resigned. "But know this.  Do not seek out this danger out of a desire to compete with your brother nor out of a desire to escape your pain for neither will bode well for you when you come face to face with the evil you pursue."

Cièdron nodded obligingly, though the king still could not help doubting his son's motivation. Thranduil paused and his stare rested on everyone present, lingering particularly on his sons. 

"Whether we will it or not, I fear war is descending upon us though whether it will be five years from now, fifty years, or five hundred years, I cannot say. Whether or not he has the ring, Sauron's forces are growing – his followers, be they orcs, humans, or even perhaps lost elves, are gathering. Not a day has passed ever, when my heart believed the evil of Mordor has been overcome. But do not be too eager to commence the last battle against the Enemy!" Thranduil glared pointedly at Bratherond as he said this. 

"You do not know the evil and despair you are about to face in the years to come! I know. I have experienced the horror of Mordor! I was at the War of the Last Alliance. I watched as two thirds of our elves were slaughtered by Sauron's forces and as my own father died in battle. Though we cannot shirk from the oncoming battle, it is not yet time and I am not sending you off as soldiers, but as scouts – do not let your thirst for vengeance cause you to forget that. We must learn more about our enemy before we could participate in a full-fledged war against him. I have faith in you for you have proven your worth as warriors and I trust fully in your loyalty. I would not allow these treks otherwise."

Thranduil turned to Gandalf. "Mithrandir, you will accompany Aragorn and Legolas?"

"For at least a part of the way, yes, Thranduil, though I cannot guarantee I will be with them for the entire mission – I know not for certain where my future courses lie."

Thranduil frowned and nodded uneasily. "Of course not, Mithrandir…" he then addressed Aragorn and Legolas. "I suggest the two of you study the maps and books on the Rhûn and then find some rest."

"You too," Thranduil said turning to Bratherond, Merionè and Cièdron. "I would that none of you begin these excursions blind."

"Käriler, prepare the packs and horses for all of our travelers. I want them to pack lightly, but be well equipped with food, water, and medicines…and take these with you. Put them somewhere safe," Thranduil ordered gesturing towards the bag and scroll before placing both hands on the table and lowering his head. "You may all go now..."

One by one, everyone filed out of the room. Before he left, Gandalf placed a hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "You are wise to let your sons go. They will not disappoint you."

Thranduil stared dully at the table, never looking up at the wizard. "I know that Mithrandir," he murmured softly.

With a low sigh, Gandalf walked towards the door where Aragorn awaited him. 

As Legolas and Cièdron began their exit, the King called them wearily. "Legolas, Cièdron… meet me in my personal quarters in an hour."

The brothers nodded solemnly, though Thranduil did not see since his head was still lowered. "Yes, Ada, we will be there." Cièdron answered. Legolas still did not seem to be over the shock of his father complying with his decision to go with Aragorn. 

When the room was emptied, Thranduil sat quietly in his seat, staring blankly at the glittering jewels, crowns, and statuettes inhabiting the room around him.  A peaceful moment passed before Bratherond hesitantly reentered the room and addressed the King, who never moved his eyes from the intricate murals on the wall directly ahead of him.

"King Thranduil…" the warrior spoke with some trepidation. When Thranduil did not answer, the elf continued. "King Thranduil… I just want you to know… Cièdron will return home." 

At this the King turned his gaze to Bratherond, "And what makes you so certain, Bratherond?" Though his voice was low, it projected powerfully against the sudden silence in the formerly crowded room.

Bratherond straightened and with a little more confidence, walked further into the room. "Because I would not have it otherwise. You have my word, King Thranduil, I will not return without him.  I swear it upon my life. As long as I still stand, so will Cièdron."

Thranduil dropped his hands in front of him and studied his top warrior who stood tall and proud, his face stony and his eyes determined. _Yes, that is why I invited him. No other warrior can match his loyalty and devotion. I forgot Bratherond's better qualities. _

"Thank you, Bratherond," the King answered sincerely, not hiding the immense gratitude in his heart. 

"And I am certain, if you would send another guard, they will do the same for Legolas. There is none among us who would not give his own life to ensure the safety of your youngest Thranduil."

Thranduil dropped his gaze and paused briefly before he lifted it again. "Legolas's responsibilities are not the same as Cièdron's. Another fate awaits him, one where guards will be of no use to him." As he spoke, the words did not feel as if they were his and his voice seemed alien to him. Thranduil did not know how he had ended up saying this, yet never had he been so sure of his words. 

"I do not know how I know this, Bratherond. I just do."

Bratherond nodded slowly. "Aye, such mysteries often envelop the bonds between fathers and sons. Though I still cannot say I agree with your judgment, my King."

Thranduil sighed. "I know Bratherond. I'm not sure I do either." 

Bratherond was about to say more, but then quickly changed his mind. With one last concerned glance at the King, he turned and left the room.

* * *

As they left the council room, Aragorn turned to address Legolas, but before he could say a word, Gandalf gently touched his arm.

"Nay, Aragorn, leave them be for now," he whispered as Legolas and Cièdron together left the room, both displaying a mixture of deep thought, surprise, and worry on their faces, making them look more alike than ever. The two barely seemed to notice as Gandalf pulled Aragorn towards the library. 

"What do you think Ada will say to us?" Legolas asked Cièdron.

"I don't know Legolas, but let us go now to his room to wait for him." Legolas agreed to this and without speaking the two made their way up to Thranduil's quarters. 

When they entered Thranduil's room, memories flooded back to them, just as they had bombarded Thranduil.  A sad smile crossed Legolas's face when he remembered how he and Cièdron would pretend that Thranduil's great bed was a ship, and they were captains of equal standing, since if either one of them dared to declare himself to be the superior a great fight would erupt and both would be in deep trouble with their parents.  Their older brothers were too old to enjoy such frivolous pleasures, and were often out hunting or scouting, though their sister would at times join them when she decided she was not above such childish games.

Elladan and Elrohir would also play along when they visited with Lord Elrond. These were always the most fun, since they would create two teams – depending on how each was feeling towards his sibling, the teams would either be the twins against Legolas and Cièdron or the twins would split up and Elrohir would join with Legolas while Elladan joined with Cièdron. 

The same memories engulfed Cièdron as well and he paused in front of the bed, leaning his hand against one of its tall, slender posts. 

"Remember when you and Elrohir thought it would be a bright idea to create a real storm with bucketfuls of water from the outside fountain?" he recalled with a laugh.

"Nay, Cièdron! That was not me -that was yours and Elladan's ingenious idea! I would never do something so foolish!" Legolas protested.

Cièdron's eyes widened. "It was not me!" he paused and thought for a moment. "Actually, perhaps it was both Elladan and Elrohir who played the parts of the angry Valar raising a storm and we were the captains."

Legolas snorted. "Aye, that sounds right. Yet it was us that got in trouble. Nana was furious… Her beautiful bed spreads…"

Cièdron laughed, "Aye, but we got back at them when we replaced Lord Elrond's archives with recipes for cakes and ales from the cook's quarters and hid the annals in Elladan's and Elrohir's rooms."

Legolas smirked. "As I remember, they got in quite a bit of trouble with the cook as well…" 

Cièdron chuckled and seated himself in one of Thranduil's velvet chairs. Legolas followed and sat in a neighboring one, the same one Merionè had sat in earlier that night.  The two fell silent for a couple of moments, lost in their own memories of troublemaking and their departed kin. 

"Nana was furious with us also then… She knew it was us who took Lord Elrond's archives. I don't know how she did…" Legolas trailed off.  The memory of his mother always haunted him – though he knew it was absurd and unfair, he sometimes could not help but think she had abandoned them by leaving Middle Earth.  

"Eilesiá told her. She had been waiting for that moment to get back at us since we broke that doll of hers…" Cièdron answered quietly. 

"Since _you_ broke that doll…" Legolas corrected. His voice was so soft it would barely be heard by non-elven ears. Cièdron did not answer, too lost was he in his own thoughts.

Suddenly, Cièdron turned towards Legolas, his eyes wide with a new fear and sadness. "Legolas, promise me you will not do anything rash… while you are scouting, I mean. Promise me you will not try to play the part of the hero and sacrifice yourself. Be careful, brother. Promise me you will be careful."

Legolas returned his gaze, his own eyes filling with worry and fear. "Only if you will promise me the same Cièdron. I do not know what foolish motivations you have for volunteering yourself to go to Dol Guldur…"

"The same as yours, Legolas," Cièdron finished curtly.

Legolas turned away and gazed at the soft rugs covering the wooden floor. His gloomy eyes narrowed as they fell on a bright, golden object lying in the rug. The elf bent down to pick it up and a dark mist fell over his face.

Cièdron gazed sadly at the forlorn braid in Legolas's palm. Legolas closed his hand around it and returned to his seat, returning his despondent gaze to the rug as he did so. 

"I promise, Legolas," Cièdron whispered. "I will not do anything rash."

"And I do also, Cièdron." 

A light breeze blew in from the still-open terrace and the sun began to peak out from the horizon, tinting the dark sky with hints of pink as gradually the forest awoke. If either elf chose to look outside, they would see a dichotomy of dark skulking shadows and pockets of light and their sharp ears would hear the distant orc horns mixed with the chirping and coos of doves and larks.  But they remained seated, quietly and patiently awaiting their father.

At last, Thranduil entered the room. He paused, taking in the sight of his sons seated peacefully next to each other with the pale light of the rising sun reflecting off their golden hair.  Legolas had his legs curled up beneath him and Cièdron appeared to slouch slightly in the cushiony, plush chair. Two pairs of opalescent eyes gazed up at him expectantly and both straightened their backs and their legs, leaning forward slightly in the seats. _Even now that they are grown, those chairs seem too big for them, the King thought, nostalgically remembering when those legs could not even reach the floor beneath them when they sat in those seats.   _

The elf king revealed naught of the tugging emotions that overwhelmed him at that simple, beautiful sight of his children – the last of his children- fully grown, and all the same, so very young to him. Whatever anger and frustration he felt with them over the past two days, passed away with a rush of pride and a simultaneous urge to fall to his knees at their feet, begging them to stay, to return to the days when they would pretend to be apprentices to Círdan the shipwright. Or to just stay as they are – in the comfort and safety of the King's luxurious chairs under the warm sunlight, within this room where the ghosts of his wife and his other children still dwelled, if only in memories. They were too beautiful to let go of. This room, this morning, this sight, his sons…If the chance arose to halt time itself, Thranduil would grab it in a heartbeat for he truly believed he could happily live forever with nothing more than this moment. 

But Thranduil did not live for thousands of years with the reputation as a resilient, powerful, formidable elf king for nothing.  Even in the presence of his own sons, he masterly hid his vulnerabilities and despite the ripping of his heart at having to break this perfect image before him, he firmly approached Legolas and Cièdron with unwavering eyes and sat before them on the edge of his bed.

"And so my sons, the fiery blood of Oropher has finally flared in your hearts," Thranduil began, noticing with some amusement the slight surprise in his sons' faces at his words. _Were they expecting a tirade from me, the last day I have them here to myself in this palace?_

Thranduil's firm veneer melted ever so slightly and a mist glazed over his eyes. "I do not know how to prepare you for the journeys you are about to embark upon, not only these immediate missions, but the forthcoming battles that are now inevitable. You will meet evil you did not know existed and you will confront terrible suffering as well, though Valar willing, it will not be your own. But it would be foolish of me to think it were impossible or even unlikely that both of you will taste pain and so I will not pass on such false securities to you."

Thranduil took both his sons' hands into his own. "Remember what I told you Legolas. Do not ever forsake your hopeful spirit. That goes for you too Cièdron.  You are both fine warriors and quick of mind, but when interminable darkness settles in, only the hope within your souls will save you. Remember those you love, remember your home, your kin, remember Greenwood… When times are darkest, it will be these memories that pull you through and give you the strength to fight." A faint smile lifted Thranduil's lips. "You look at me as if you are in shock that I allowed you to go. Yet I did not _allow_ anything, your courses are of your own choosing. It matters not what I say, for I know that neither of you could be held back when your hearts truly desire to fight… it makes me proud to know how strong your hearts are…." Thranduil trailed off and released his sons' hands. He then stood up and walked towards his dresser where he opened the top drawer and pulled out two objects wrapped delicately in pearly silk cloths. 

When he returned he handed one to each of them. With some hesitation, Legolas and Cièdron unwrapped the silk to reveal two elegantly carved elven daggers, their sharp blades gleaming against the ivory handles.

Both the elves' jaws dropped. "Ada this is beautiful…" Cièdron breathed in wonder holding his knife up to the light.

"They were your brothers'," Thranduil stated simply, never removing his eyes from the daggers.

Legolas's and Cièdron's heads snapped up. "Maegren's and Feáner's?' Legolas whispered disbelievingly. 

Thranduil shook his head. "One is Feáner's," Thranduil explained, gesturing to Legolas's knife, "the other is Orophmin's… He left it before he left for the Havens. We did not keep Maegren's blade since Feáner died at its tip."  

Legolas gazed in astonishment at his father. "Thank you, Ada…" Cièdron put his dagger down and whispered "Thank you," as well. They then stood and sheathed their weapons.

Thranduil nodded and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "You will both be leaving at daybreak tomorrow. Take this day to do what you need to prepare, be it rest or the studying of maps and books with the others who will be joining you. I will meet with all of you again later today to finalize our plans."

Legolas and Cièdron nodded and turned to exit the room. As Legolas reached the door, he turned and looked regretfully at the King. "Ada… I'm sorry…"

"I know, Legolas. I beg you to go rest now and allow your wound to complete its healing." Thranduil interrupted with a small smile. 

Legolas hesitated briefly and then followed Cièdron. It had been a long day and a long night, and though the elf normally had infinite energy, he suddenly felt a desire to rest in his bed, if only for a short while and so he obeyed Thranduil's request. 

When Thranduil was alone, he returned to the terrace and gazed over the railing to the woods beneath him and the sky above that had given him such a fleeting hope just a few hours ago.  He then walked back into his bedroom and shut and locked the balcony's doors. A long day awaited him and he would have no time for such idyllic musings this morning.

**TBC**

I can't get over how wonderful you reviewers are! When I review, even when I absolutely love the story, I'm usually never able to say much more than a few sentences. One of any of your reviews is worth 10.

Cyndre: Oh my god, thank you! That was… holy cow, wow- my heart just stopped when I read your review- that was too much. Thank you!

Alexa: Hmmm… how did Gandalf know it was Legolas? That's a good question…. ;) There is nothing corny about laughing and crying… or maybe it could be, but that's ok because to me that is an unbelievable compliment! I'm so glad you're enjoying it!

Dot: You know, I originally only brought in Cièdron because I needed someone for Legolas to fight with in Chapter 3… But I've grown so attached to him since – I'm glad other people are feeling sorry for him as well!

RainyDayz: You are wonderful! You are always one of my first reviewers and I look forward to it always. A head did cross my mind, but then I thought that may be just a tad too gruesome and well… very gory-scary-movie-ish... 

And thank you so much to everyone else – 'a fan', elvensong, LOTRFaith… Thanks! 

*******

**Legolas**:   Aragorn, you've got to get yourself together… don't you see? 

**Aragorn**:  I know, I got stuck in a moment…

**Legolas**:   Aye! And you can't get out of it! Now, by the Valar, don't say it

**Aragorn**:  Later will be better…

**Legolas**:   Now you're stuck in a moment! 

**Aragorn**: Ai, Elbereth…And I can't get out of it!

I had considered putting this into the last chapter, but didn't think anyone would really appreciate the genius of it.  Disclaimer: U2's not mine. ;)


	9. A Wizard's Farewell Gift

Chapter 9... These characters are not mine….

**A Wizard's Farewell Gift**

In the darkened, hay filled stables, with a creeping tunnel of light glaring through the front opening and through small cracks in the wooden roof, Filinor sang cheerfully as he washed and brushed the coarse hair of six tall horses while Käriler meticulously, but quietly, prepared the reigns. 

_Off you go, off you trot_

_To where, fair horse?___

_I know not!_

_To the steam?___

_To the sky?___

_Off you go, off you fly!_

_To the wood?___

_To the sea?___

_Off you go, off you spree!_

"Filinor, tell me, would you sing if _you_ were about to embark on a scouting trip to greet Sauron's own personal servants?" Käriler asked as he fitted a reign onto one of the horses.

"Käriler, my good elf, I would sing if I were about to greet Sauron himself, blinded with my two hands tied behind my back! Because you see, I know the secret for defeating the Enemy that all the great elf lords of the past missed." Filinor distractedly answered as he finished one horse and moved to another.

"And what is that?" Käriler queried skeptically. 

"To drive him absolutely mad with inane songs! He can torture me all he wants, but he will not stop me from song making. He'd soon find himself humming my songs and they will forever occupy his mind until he has no room for evil thoughts. I do plan on telling the princes this, for I truly believe that is the secret to his undoing."

Käriler considered this and chuckled. "Well Filinor, I suppose that could work until Sauron decided to cut off your tongue and your head to go with it."

"Ah, but by then it would be too late, for the song's tune will be planted in his mind and he would have to cut off his own head to free himself of it!" Filinor exclaimed this with such excitement the horse he was brushing released a small neigh and gave a slight jump, kicking up a fluttering of hay which fell into the hair of the two elves.

"Remind me when the final battle begins to tell King Thranduil to place you on the frontlines Filinor…" Käriler mumbled as he picked out the hay caught in his hair. Filinor ignored the hay on his own head and began another tune.

_A battle! A fight! A war! A flight!_

_He who wins, He who smites,_

_Will take the wood, Will take the night!_

_A battle! A fight! A war! A flight!_

_He who loses, he who fails_

_Will lose the wood, Will lose the tales!_

Käriler laughed, and unable to resist, joined Filinor. The horses' neighs accompanied the two, and just outside the stables, the sweet melodies of birds and Bratherond's not-so-sweet, grating shouts provided the backup to this boisterous concert of sorts.

"You call these lembas!! These are not lembas, these are hobbit biscuits!"

"Yes sir, sorry sir, I will take care of that straight away sir."

"Why can I not see my face in this sword? What are we rangers!?! Can we not afford to have _clean_ swords???"

"Well sir, actually it would be a rather good thing to be rangers, don't you think? They are quite capable scouts…."

"I WANT A CLEAN SWORD!"

"Yes sir, straight away sir."

Aragorn pursed his lips and after gracefully swinging his own sword, testing its weight and quality, he sheathed it and turned abruptly to Gandalf who had been quietly perched on a stump, smoking his pipe and passively watching the ranger and elves. 

"That elf is one insult away from losing all of that pretty hair of his…" Aragorn hissed.

"Aragorn, I had been ready to whack him ever since I first set foot in Mirkwood. If I can control myself for a few centuries, you can control yourself for a few days…Now, have you by any chance seen my pack anywhere, I seem to have misplaced it…"

"A few days?!?" 

Gandalf frowned and blew out a wreath of smoke that swelled from a small ring to a large wheel before tumbling away in the breeze. Another beautiful day had descended on Mirkwood and Gandalf had to squint as he looked up at Aragorn to mitigate the blaring rays of the sun as they peaked through the tall trees and escaped the shadow of the large, puffy clouds. "Well yes Aragorn, we will all be traveling together for a short while as we head south before we separate and you and Legolas go East while the others scout Dol Guldur…" he trailed off as his eyes searched his surroundings for his missing pack.

Aragorn sighed and nodded stiffly as he looked away from Gandalf and fixed a cold glare on Bratherond who was now shouting something to Käriler and Filinor about the horses they just brought out.

"By the way, Aragorn, that was a fine choice you made for a companion. I could not have chosen better myself. Thranduil's youngest is a most talented warrior even if he has yet to prove it in the wild," Gandalf perked up cheerfully before inhaling again on his pipe.

A knowing smile bent Aragorn's lips as he raised his eyebrows at the wizard who pretended to be absorbed in Bratherond's scolding of Käriler and Filinor. 

"You knew all along I would choose him. You intended it, even before we were introduced, before we even set foot in Mirkwood," Aragorn said this carefully though amusement tinged his voice.

The wizard did not turn from his gaze nor remove his pipe, which dangled from the corner of his mouth, as he answered half-heartedly, "Nonsense, Aragorn. How am I to know who you would choose? I am but an old man with a staff, not a fortune-teller or matchmaker."

Gandalf then bolted from his seat and with one last searching glance for his lost pack, he grasped Aragorn's shoulder. 

"Come Aragorn, I have had quite enough of this ranting, half sane elf. Let us seek out Legolas and my pack."

Aragorn nodded and the two left Bratherond alone with Käriler, Filinor and six horses all of whom gazed longingly at the departing ranger and wizard, wishing they too could escape Bratherond's haranguing.

The stables' mixed stenches of horses and hay were soon replaced with the refreshing smells of sweet flowers and wood. Déjà vu struck the ranger as he and Gandalf approached the archery grounds in search of Legolas as once again, the frustrated shouts of Cièdron and Alasse greeted the two.  Aragorn frowned and protectively moved ahead of Gandalf. 

"Aragorn, is there a reason..."

"Just trust me Gandalf and stay alert," Aragorn tersely interrupted as he darted behind a towering beech and beckoned for Gandalf to follow. 

"Alasse, can you not focus, just this once! This is our last lesson! At least try to make an effort to strike the target…"

"Prince Cièdron, I am trying!"

A frustrated sigh and a new voice entered the fray.

"Cièdron, you are doing it all wrong – she will never learn this way."

"Oh! And I suppose you could do better, Legolas!"

"Well actually, yes I think I could! At least I had her striking the target!"

"I would have also had you not interrupted me!"

"Argh! You are as stubborn as a dwarf protecting his gold! Now give me that!"

"No!"

"Give me it Cièdron! I can teach her!"

"NO!"

Gandalf sighed and shook his head disapprovingly when they finally reached the clearing (after ducking behind trees and scurrying carefully in a crooked, angled path at Aragorn's insistence.) Just ahead, Cièdron and Legolas were frantically tugging on a bow. A second later, the bow dropped and they tugged on each other instead, yelling, kicking, and cursing furiously.  

Aragorn gave a sidelong glance at Gandalf, "We will only be together for a couple of days, right?" he asked tentatively. 

"Actually, perhaps it would be better if we took separate paths the entire way – Cièdron could have the western half of Mirkwood, while Legolas remained in the east," the wizard grumbled.

"That still would not stop them…. Oomph!" as Aragorn doubled over, he looked down to see what four-foot, seven inch figure just violently knocked the air out of him.

"Master Aragorn! Ah good, I see you have recovered! That is good, that is good, now if you would excuse me…" Alasse's eyes darted furtively around her and she dashed away again, leaving her two tutors in a tangled, yelping mess in the center of the field. As Aragorn gasped for breath, he made a mental note to keep away from the princes' archery lessons from now on.

As was his wont, Gandalf chose to ignore the runaway elfling and the winded ranger beside him, and instead focused intently on the vicious scene playing out in front of him. After much grumbling and muttering, the wizard cleared his throat in an attempt to get the elves' attention.

This proved to be as effective as a feather in knocking some sense into the two brothers. Again he tried, and again he failed, as Legolas proceeded to fall with Cièdron to the ground shouting all the while to give him the bow.  Aragorn frowned slightly as he noted the bow lying innocently on the ground, out of both Cièdron's and Legolas's hands though it still rested within their reach. The same thought dawned slowly on the elves as they paused momentarily and hesitatingly looked towards the bow. A second later they both lunged at it and resumed their fierce tug-of-war. 

"This is absolutely ridiculous," Gandalf muttered before gathering his breath for a ground shaking bellow.

"LEGOLAS AND CIÈDRON, SONS OF THRANDUIL AND FOOLS OF WOOD ELVES, YOU WILL DROP THAT BOW NOW!"

All the forest quaked, birds scattered from the trees, and Aragorn could have sworn even dark storm clouds gathered around the irate wizard. Legolas and Cièdron halted and dropped the bow.

"Good, now that I have gotten your attention…."

A high pitched whoosh and a thunderous pop interrupted Gandalf and all four heads snapped back and gaped at the sky.  A sparkling pandemonium of bright colors crackled and shaped into oliphaunts, dragons, and ships, before dissipating into glowing particles of dusts, only to be replaced by another series of pops and explosions. 

"Ah yes, that's where I left it!" Gandalf exclaimed happily as the colors reflected off everyone's awed faces marveling the vivid sky. "Hmmm… they would have been much better at night…" he mumbled.

Like mice crawling out of dark holes and cracks, dozens of elves emerged from their perches in the birches, beeches and oaks, and peaked out from the foundry, stables and other small, wooden buildings dotting their mossy realm. They all gazed up in wonder at the glittering sky. Merry shouts and joyful songs praised the delightful spectacle.

"It must be a farewell gift for our brave princes!"

"Aye! Or a gift from the wizard to honor our King!" 

"I wonder if the fell inhabitants of Dol Guldur can see this! These bright, strange colors would scare them away for sure!"

"Aye! A magical realm Mirkwood is! Perhaps the Valar will take note and now aid us in our struggles!"

"Here, here!" 

The cheers reverberated in and out and around the thick trunks like a light beam in a hall of scattered mirrors. The bemused cries, some muffled, others clear and piercing, and all of them melodious, brought grins to Aragorn's, Cièdron's, and Legolas's faces. Gandalf too appeared rather amused by the elves' buoyant cries and jovial faces.

The ebullience even penetrated the palace's thick walls and a befuddled Thranduil soon emerged on his terrace, glancing inquisitively first at the elves below him and then at the midday sky, alit with exploding firecrackers. He raised his eyebrows and searched the grounds for Gandalf, when another eruption of cheers brought another flash of confusion to the King's face.

"Look! It is our King!"

"Hail King Thranduil!"

"Hail our King who brings us such joy and hope in these dark times!"

Legolas's and Cièdron's grins widened as they looked up and playfully saluted their father. Though Thranduil was too far for Aragorn's mortal eyes to see clearly, he laughed at the bewilderment he imagined must now be growing on the King's face, while Gandalf also raised his staff as a salute. As he did so, an entire fleet exploded and sailed dreamily across the blue sky.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes suspiciously at them and looked up again at the sky as an image of a giant eagle flitted against the clouds before fading away leaving in its wake a hobbit farmer. Entranced momentarily, he stood and watched until the hobbit too disappeared with the eagle. A sad smile graced his face and he nodded to his cheering subjects before turning and retreating into his room.

"Ah well, that was quite a surprise! At least they were outside the caverns this time!" Gandalf merrily noted.

Legolas grinned at the wizard, "I believe our wizard hides more in that pack than a rat does in his nest! So what else do you have planned for us today?"

"Hmph… well a good solid whack in the head for acting so foolishly when you two should be preparing for your departures tomorrow is long due," Gandalf answered glaring sternly at the two elves. 

"Ah, Mithrandir – we were merely giving Alasse one last lesson to make sure she could protect herself before we leave her…" Cièdron lightly explained as he stood and brushed the grime off his leggings.

"Indeed…" Gandalf eyed the scruffed-up elves and sighed. "Well then, now that you accomplished that, come and help an old man retrieve his pack from whatever rascal filched it from me."

"Or from wherever the old man carelessly left it…" Aragorn corrected as he lifted the bow and handed it to Cièdron while Legolas laughed and teasingly allowed the 'old man' to lean on his arm. 

"Beware the wizard who feigns to be an old man! For he will strike with his staff which he pretends is a cane and outwit with his mind which he claims to be feeble!"

"Pah! That is enough of that Legolas…" Gandalf scolded though he could not help smiling at the elf's nonsensical (or perhaps extremely sensible) warnings.

Legolas continued to spout warnings and jibes much to the wizard's chagrin, as the group left the archery grounds to retrieve Gandalf's pack and meet with the King for further preparations. Cièdron fell back and stealthily pulled Aragorn with him until they were out of earshot of Legolas and Gandalf.

"Aragorn, can I ask you a favor?" the elf pleaded softly.

Aragorn turned and raised his eyebrows, "You may," he answered with a voice tinged with surprise.

"Make sure he does not do anything stupid." Cièdron narrowed his eyes at his brother, still not completely forgetting his earlier fight. "I know this may be a lot to ask for…"

"Cièdron," Aragorn said firmly as he stopped and grabbed the elf's shoulder. "You have my word I will do everything within my power, and even everything not within it, to bring him back safely." Aragorn locked his steely gaze on Cièdron's and amiably slapped the elf on the back before he continued walking. Cièdron nodded gratefully and paused, relishing for a moment the warm sunlight on his face, before scurrying to catch up with the rest of the group.  

As they approached the palace, Gandalf quickly found his pack leaning innocently against a lone tree, though it was left suspiciously ajar.  _And suspiciously not far from where we first started to look, Aragorn thought, believing the wizard purposely left it there and brought Aragorn to the archery clearing with the specific intent to view the firecrackers without the hindrance of the trees._

"Hmph...the work of impish elves,"Gandalf muttered as he peaked inside and studied what remained of its contents.

Aragorn cocked a skeptical eyebrow and Cièdron smirked at the wizard.

"Or of wily wizards..." Legolas suggested as he crossed his arms against his chest.

"Legolas, I would strongly recommend you hold your tongue before the wily wizard becomes an angry, fiery wizard…" Gandalf warned threateningly.

Legolas merely laughed and began to casually stroll towards the palace, soon to be followed by the rest of the group.  Maps, books, meetings, and packing occupied the rest of the day for the elves, wizard and ranger.

***

Later that night when he finally was able to escape the plethora of chores to be accomplished before he left, Aragorn sighed and relaxed against the rough trunk of the same oak he had sat in with Legolas beneath a fan of fluttering leaves. Something about the ancient tree comforted the ranger, as if just by spending time with the wood elves he had picked up their uncanny relationship with and understanding of their surrounding wood.  He allowed his lids to droop and his muscles to relax completely, placing all of his trust in the tree's branches to cradle him. The setting sun cast glittering beads of light on the quivering leaves and Aragorn's breath coincided with the light sighs of the wind.  A tingle passed through his body, and a part of him wondered if perhaps this was what it was like to feel the trees' memories.  

Memories. Aragorn wandered about what memories these trees might hold - memories of the forest it once was.  The elves' cheers for the fireworks and for their King echoed sadly in his mind. The cheers were hopeful, but hollow - for theirs was a race whose peak had been surpassed and now they were fading, soon to be no more than a memory themselves and Middle Earth would soon be no more but a memory to them. Aragorn's thoughts then wandered to the Grey Havens, a land he would never see.  What was this land that captured the hearts of the elves enough to lure them away from Middle Earth? Or had Middle Earth become so hopeless that they were driven away? 

Aragorn pulled out his pipe and blew out a series of wreaths and again he closed his eyes. With a deep breath he tried to no avail to clear his mind of the somber thoughts that weighed it down.  He grew up with elves and knew more of them than he did of humans, yet he would never truly understand their race. Never could he hope to understand the yearning that tormented them and eventually brought them together in a guarded land he could never journey to himself.  One day Lord Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, his childhood friends, Legolas, Cièdron, Thranduil, their kin, Haldir, Galadrial, Celeborn…_Arwen_… they would all be reunited in Valinor for eternity, left with only memories of Middle Earth. What would he become to them when they left and he passed away to whatever fate lay beyond the mortal lives of the second born? _A memory.__ He would only be a memory, as fickle and ephemeral as a passing breeze. Yet, perhaps even after the passing of time, his ghost would remain with them as he knew their ghosts would live with him long after they departed, until he drew his last breath. Perhaps in his own way, he too would hold on to their memories for eternity, when his body was no more and the earth itself faded away with the waning of the stars. And perhaps one day, they all would be reunited again…_

"I see you have grown used to climbing Master Ranger," a musical voice brought Aragorn out of his reveries. "You have usurped my perch!"

Legolas laughed at the distracted, slightly baffled state he had caught Aragorn in. "Surprised to find yourself in a tree, human? Perhaps you have smoked a little too much of that pipe and you did not realize you were no longer on the ground?"

Aragorn smirked and feebly shook his head. "Nay Legolas I was just thinking…"

"Ah! A good exercise indeed! I see we are rubbing off on you then! We do enjoy that also you know… A fine way to spend your time, and most useful as well…"

Aragorn chuckled, but did not elaborate when the elf sat comfortably on a neighboring branch and raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

"It was nothing Legolas…" One look at the lighthearted elf was enough to drive away whatever melancholy thoughts tugged at his heart and a genuine smile spread on the human's face. 

"Are you ready for what awaits us mellonin?"

Legolas grinned eagerly as he cockily turned to face the ranger. "I have always been ready, Master Ranger." 

Aragorn's smile remained firm as he clasped the elf's shoulder.  A moment later, two figures walking towards the palace doors caught his attention. Legolas followed his gaze and upon locating what it was that had distracted the ranger, he smirked mischievously. Aragorn raised an eyebrow as he leaned back and crossed his arms against his chest. In response to the human's unasked question, Legolas sang in elvish,

_The reckless youth, the handsome elf with a far-roving mind_

_Vowed to set out to woo the flower of the wood,_

_Who has caught the moon with her hands!_

_The moon from the bend on the birch branch…_

_Who has enchanted the sun!_

_The sun from the crown of a pine…_

_And now she has captured the reckless youth!_

_And she will carry him off with her sun and her moon!_

The two figures - Cièdron and a pretty lady elf - disappeared into the palace. Aragorn's grin faded slightly as Legolas musingly watched the door through which his brother and his companion just passed and whispered sadly, "They are saying good-bye…"

 A familiar explosion then caused both heads to snap up at the sky in wonder. 

***

Thranduil and Gandalf stood side by side on the King's terrace watching as the night's shadowy veil fell gracefully upon Mirkwood. Gandalf puffed his pipe, sending smoke rings far above the dark trees, as Thranduil leaned calmly against the rail.

"I have sent word to Lord Elrond of all that has passed here," the King began, sounding rather serene for the first time since Gandalf arrived. "I have also sent a few extra patrols to the South…"

"That was wise Thranduil – I am sure Lord Elrond would much desire to know the extent that the shadow has descended on your wood," Gandalf answered between smoke rings.

Thranduil nodded and looked up at the sky as a smile teased his lips, "That was quite a show you put on today Master Wizard…"

"Ah yes, thank you, though I am afraid I cannot take credit for it beyond being scatterbrained enough to leave my pack unattended long enough so that one of your rascally elves could discover it…  
  


"Scatterbrained, hm?" Thranduil mused skeptically.

Gandalf cleared his throat and glanced surreptitiously at Thranduil out of the corner of his eye, "That's right…"

The wood elf King laughed and asked, "So what other tricks do you have up your sleeve tonight Mithrandir?"

A smile crept up on the wizard's features and his eyes sparkled merrily.

 "Oh, just one more tonight…"

Just as Thranduil's eyebrow shot up, something else shot up in the distance, terminating in a magnificent explosion in the darkened sky. 

"Ah, yes, this is much better at night than during the day," Gandalf muttered as he watched the colorful explosion reflected in his companion's eyes. 

Thranduil caught his breath and marveled at the night sky brought to life one last time with Gandalf's fireworks. A giant elf hunter with an uncanny resemblance to Oropher exploded in a vibrant array of blues, yellows, greens and purples against the blackened cloak of night. It lingered a little longer than the other explosions before it too drifted away and mixed with the glittering stars.

The elf king's eyes shone with awe and his faint smile reflected the innocence and lightheartedness of youth that he had long ago lost. Gandalf noted how much Thranduil resembled Legolas in this fleeting moment. No doubt, if Legolas was also watching the night sky, his face would reveal as much unrestrained wonder as his father's now did. The wizard grinned contentedly at this thought before leaving the terrace unnoticed by the charmed elf King.

* * *

The next morning, after some final preparations, the two scouting parties were ready to depart.  The six scouts, six horses, Thranduil and Käriler stood at the foot of the bridge in the dappling of early sunlight that found its way through the thick clustering of beeches. 

It amazed Aragorn that he had only spent three nights in the halls of the woodland King for he felt as if he had known this realm for much of his life. Indeed, he had grown fond of the wood elves and sympathized more than ever with their plight. Again, their songs and cries occupied his thoughts. _A magical realm Mirkwood is! Perhaps the Valar will take note and now aid us in our struggles! _

_Perhaps_… Aragorn thought bleakly as he tied his pack to the back of a sinewy chestnut horse…_But must it be the Valar who take note and help them? Have they already lost hope in the peoples of Middle Earth?_

A neigh and a melodic laugh tickled the air as Legolas spoke something in elvish to his own chocolate colored horse.  The horse then butted Cièdron as he bent over to retrieve his own pack, after which Cièdron threw a handful of crumbled lembas at his brother. Merionè and Käriler whistled a cheery tune as they prepared Merionè's horse while Bratherond took everything out of his pack and meticulously repacked each item according to his own obsessive order. 

Thranduil and Gandalf stood off to the side, watching the final preparations with a mixture of anxiety and amusement. 

"Are you sure there is nothing else I can bring you Gandalf?" Thranduil pressed for the third time.

"Nay, Thranduil, you have already given me more than I could ever ask for and for that I am exceedingly grateful. I am sorry our meetings must always come on the waves of such ill tides. I look forward to the day we will meet again in Greenwood."

"Aye, we will, Mithrandir, we will…" Thranduil sighed and smiled at the four elves and one human that stood attentively before him and the wizard, awaiting their final instructions. 

"And so the hour has come when we must part. I wish you all the best of luck and may the Valar speed your return." As he said this, Thranduil met the gaze of each of the scouts, lingering on each one, including his sons, for an equal amount of time and with an equal amount of intensity. He then gently grabbed Cièdron's shoulder and the two placed their hands on the other's cheek in a warm farewell gesture. He did the same with Legolas before backing away.

Gandalf proceeded to climb upon his own horse with surprising agility. "King Thranduil, I thank you for your hospitality.  When we meet again, I will perhaps have more answers for you."

Thranduil nodded though the wizard took little time to acknowledge it before turning to Aragorn and the elves. "Come! The day will not grow younger and our troubles will not ebb as we wait!" 

Without waiting for the others to mount, Gandalf kicked his horse and it broke into an easy gallop over the bridge. The elves swiftly mounted their own horses and followed the wizard. As Aragorn placed one foot in the stirrup to mount his horse, a hand grasped his shoulder and he turned around to find himself face to face with the intense gaze of the elf king.

"I never had the opportunity to thank you, Estel." Thranduil warmly emphasized Aragorn's elven name. "We appreciate the help of anyone, but to have the help of one who is of the line of Elros is a blessing indeed."

This time, Aragorn did not cringe at the mention of his lineage. Instead, he grasped the King's shoulder and replied with a strong voice graced with natural nobility. 

"It is an honor, my lord. And it is an honor to fight alongside those of your own blood. You have my word, I will not rest until this evil is stricken from this land."

Thranduil smiled and squeezed Aragorn's shoulder before the ranger mounted his horse and with a quick elvish command, galloped over the bridge to catch up with the others.  The King watched until the scouts disappeared into the slinking shadows of Mirkwood. He turned to Käriler and genially patted the elf on the back, though like peeling off a mask, his smile melted and his face once again became worn and dismal.

"And so it begins again Käriler. Another battle against Sauron."

Käriler faced the King, his brows furrowed in slight confusion. "Do you believe another war will commence so soon, my King?"

"Nay Käriler, I believe war is already upon us - I am only waiting for the rest of Middle Earth to realize it. But I believe they are beginning to… I believe it will not be long now before we finally fight back."

With one last look behind him, Thranduil disappeared into his cavernous palace, with Käriler close behind. The great oak doors shut with a thunderous quake.  Mirkwood trembled for but a second and then fell silent, except for a few twittering birds, scurrying squirrels, and the creeping of sinister creatures that lurked ever closer to the wood elves' home. 

**TBC**

If I were to divide this story into parts, I guess that would be the end of part 1…. I can't believe I made it this far! Thank you reviewers!

**BRYN!!** Ohmygoodness, I got a review from Bryn! And such a wonderful long one! Argh, I am so awful for not being a better reviewer-  Do you know how much I love your stories??? (no you wouldn't because I'm a horrible, horrible reader who has only started to review though I've been lurking for months) Ohmygoodness, ohmygoodness, thank you! You are such an amazing writer – I love Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire & Marinus Stiria– you're so wonderful! You're on my list of best authors on fanfic & have been for quite some time.  Ooooh, I'm so glad you like it so far… Thank you so much! 

**Dot:** Kill off Cièdron??? Oh dear… I don't know about that… Am I capable of such angst? Can I really be that mean to Legolas and Thranduil? I've kinda grown to like the guy…

**RainyDayz****: You're proud of me!!  Thank you! I hope you haven't been staring too long at the computer (ha – I'm one to talk… *glances at clock* oh! Look at that! Four hours straight in front of the computer! How did that happen?)**
    
    **WeasleyTwinsLover1112**: Ah… Weasley fans! Always a welcome folk in my review inbox. Thank you so much! I don't know about original books… I can only regurgitate other people's fabulous characters...
    
    **Alexa****: Thank you once again! Well, for now I'm a quick updater… Is Bratherond really that stupid? Hehe.. well, I guess he's a bit of a dolt.  **

**Aceswild****: I have been partially basing Legolas & Ciedron on some real life sibling relationships so it's cool to see it actually is working and it reminds you a bit of your own! **

**Mithrilarrow****: Thank you for reviewing! I certainly hope I don't let you guys down!**

**Phoenix23531: **I knew I recognized your name! I read your story a while ago & I must say, I enjoyed it a lot! (Once again, as I said to Bryn, I am a horrible reader and haven't reviewed anything until a couple of weeks ago, though I have read many many wonderful stories before)

**Wednesday's Child: **I'm glad you stumbled upon it & liked it! As I said before, it always amazes me anyone can find this buried under all those thousands of other stories…

**P.Rico**: Thank you! (ooh, near tears.. yay! That was my goal ;)


	10. Beyond the Elven Realm

Disclaimer: They are not mine.

Chapter 10 

**Beyond the Elven Realm**

Like a rapid current, the forest sped past the elves, human, and wizard as they galloped further from Thranduil's realm. Magnificent white birches and beeches illuminated by golden rays of sunlight faded into shadows and soon degenerated into gnarled, twisted corpses that stifled the warm sun and befouled the fresh air.  A chilling silence gradually muffled the twittering birds and the shadows awakened like dark ghosts descending sinisterly upon the group.

They had been traveling for most of the day before they passed over the famed Old Forest Road which ran through northern Mirkwood.  _"Ah Bilbo's road!" Gandalf had happily exclaimed to the confusion of the other riders as they passed over the ivy covered path. The elves and ranger by now had grown accustomed to such enigmatic, random exclamations from the wizard, so none bothered to question him about it. _

"Halt!" Bratherond shouted as he sped up to Gandalf's side and turned his horse around to face the rest of the group.  

Only the clicking of horses' hooves broke the deathly silence of the forest as they slowed to a stop. All hands fell to their respective weapons and all eyes fell tensely on Bratherond before glancing warily at their bleak surroundings. Though the horses twitched nervously they displayed remarkable self control as Merionè and Legolas whispered soothingly to them in elvish. 

"We have passed Thranduil's final guard…" Bratherond finally announced to the anxious riders. With a grim, but determined frown, Bratherond ordered his horse to continue forward.

Legolas furrowed his brows and examined the depths of the woods behind and ahead of them and then exchanged a knowing glance with Cièdron.  They did not need Bratherond to tell them they had passed the final ring of elf guards – both had already explored the outer rims of the elven realm and both knew the darkness would now overtake them like a river breaking through a dam.  

Gandalf cautiously addressed the riders. "Keep your weapons ready and stay on your guard. Thranduil has no sway over these parts of Mirkwood and the fell creatures here know it.  Whatever safety existed in Mirkwood, we have now left behind us and we have only our own wits to depend on, for I do not even believe luck will be on our side in this part of Middle Earth. The chances now are a thousand to one we will all get out of this forest in one piece." 

"Your happy words never fail to uplift my spirit Gandalf.  Is that the only positive encouragement you can offer?" Aragorn said sarcastically as he brought his horse up next to Gandalf's. 

"Nay, a wizard never runs out of bright tidings young ranger.  I believe also that the danger will only grow worse as we move further south, and our chances shall drop to a million to one. But do not worry, we have faced such dark obstacles in the past and we will be sure to face far worse ones in the future. At least we have a chance at all now!" Gandalf did not turn to Aragorn as he answered, but kept his eyes firmly on the dark forest ahead. 

Aragorn frowned and muttered, "Well that's a relief…"

"It is always wonderful to keep a wizard around so that you do not float away on false hopes. Mithrandir not only keeps our hopes at bay, he ties iron anchors to our hearts!" Legolas jested. Even the darkest shadows could not yet chase away the intrinsic mirth of the young elf's soul.

"I am afraid iron anchors are not enough for certain elves though…" Gandalf grumbled. Though he sounded irritated, the wizard smirked and his heart lightened despite the malevolent foreboding that slinked through his mind.

The elves followed Gandalf, Bratherond, and Aragorn, not without a little hesitation as chills raced up their spines from the sudden cold breezes that taunted the knotted, crooked branches that arched above them menacingly. They all proceeded cautiously at a much slower speed than they had started with for the wood now demanded the utmost vigilance in every step they took.

In speckles, the sun broke through the trees, as dim as candlelight and as scattered as drizzling raindrops. The only paths to guide them were ones created before the wood had been renamed to Mirkwood. Since then, these paths had largely been abandoned and the bordering wilderness overtook them in a tangled muddle of sharp branches and ivy.  Between the trees, gleaming spiderwebs formed deadly nets in which many unfortunate rodents and dark birds were ensnared.

"I remember these trees…I used to climb this one and recline in her branches for hours when I first journeyed here from Lindon," Merionè murmured as they passed a massive oak, its cracked trunk as thick as four men. 

Aragorn frowned and brought his horse up to the once magnificent tree. He gently laid a hand upon it and pulled it back abruptly as if he had just touched a hot stove.  As he gazed at the tree in wonder and surprise, he tried to determine what it was he just felt- it was not pain exactly, but a sudden piercing sense of sadness, as if he could actually feel the tree suffocating. He turned and met Legolas's own pensive gaze. 

"She is trying to breathe, but she cannot. The shadow is choking her." The elf's voice was laden with sorrow, but he turned quickly from the tree and followed Gandalf as the wizard beckoned for them to continue. 

"It seems the tree remembers you as well Merionè," the wizard uttered sadly as Merionè rushed to catch up to him. 

Bratherond gazed darkly behind him at the oak. "It will be more than just the trees that suffocate at the hands of Sauron…" he warned ominously.

Past the great oak, grew a cluster of slender soot-colored trees, their crooked fingers reaching up to the sky, blocked only by their own thick, rubbery leaves from actually touching the clouds.  A flash of recognition sparkled on Cièdron's visage as they approached it. 

"Ada told us many stories about this forest. Legolas and I have never traveled very far past the Old Forest Road, but Ada described these parts of Greenwood to us so vividly I could almost recognize these trees, even if they are now only shadows of what they once were," Cièdron spoke wistfully as he gazed at the forbidding scenery.  The light of recognition also shone on Legolas's face and he gazed upwards at the trees as if he were seeing the remnants of a pleasant dream rather than the terrible demons that claimed the souls of Mirkwood's plants and creatures.

"Aye, I believe this is where a large clustering of birches once grew. Ada loved these trees…birches were always his favorite." Legolas smiled slightly as he remembered one particular story his father had told them that he had always enjoyed hearing as an elfling. 

"He told us these trees were impenetrable to arrows and axes. The greatest archers in Middle Earth could not strike a mark on the tree, though he never was clear whether it was the trees that jumped out of the way or the arrows that changed their direction. But there was one archer who believed he was so skilled, not even the spells of the Valar could ward off his arrows. When he heard of these trees, he scoffed and proclaimed that he would be the one to prove the myth wrong. But arrow after arrow was deflected, and slowly the archer was driven to madness by his obsession to strike a tree. Despite the pleas of his kin, he refused to leave! Days turned into weeks which soon turned into years, and many moons passed, but still he would not give up. And so the archer, stubborn as he was, stood so long amongst the birches he soon sprouted roots and joined them!"

Cièdron chuckled softly. "You never did get enough of that story Legolas…"

"Aye, one day I will test that myth myself," Legolas distantly replied. 

Merionè smiled and joined in with his own reminiscence. "Thranduil would also come to these birches often with Galeraen. He did not think anyone knew of their secret trysts here, but we knew…" Merionè laughed at Legolas's and Cièdron's surprised faces, but his face fell when he noted the sorrow that colored their eyes at the mention of their mother.  With a sad sigh he looked away. "Those were happy days…"

Gandalf frowned as he gazed at the crooked, ashen colored serpents that used to be dazzling birches glowing as magically as those now within the woodland King's halls. For a fleeting moment, the wizard thought he saw the ghosts of these trees as they once were when Thranduil traveled here with his young wife or when a cocky archer decided he would challenge their magnificence, but the vision passed into darkness like a fading mirage. Indeed, all of Greenwood was now nothing more than a mirage, a memory, a nostalgic story, a floundering vision of hope… 

"Do not concentrate so much on the past.  As important as it is to remember happier days, it is more important to look forward to happier ones in the future. Otherwise we may as well hand these lands over to Sauron as we busy ourselves reminiscing about what they once were." Though his words were stern, Gandalf's voice was gentle and tinged more with melancholy than admonishment.

"Aye, we cannot allow the past to haunt us unless we desire to remain imprisoned in it," Aragorn added.

"But you cannot escape the past either, Master Ranger, as much as you may desire to," Bratherond haughtily replied.

"That's not what I said!" Aragorn seethed, but as he turned his horse around to face Bratherond, Legolas's own trotted next to him and the elf laid a hand on his shoulder. Aragorn released an aggravated sigh, but ordered his horse to continue, concentrating once again on the hostile surroundings.  Cièdron gazed sharply at Bratherond, but remarkably held back the biting insult that danced upon the tip of his tongue. 

Though Gandalf looked pointedly at Aragorn, he said nothing and they continued traveling in silence for the remainder of the day. 

Distant bristling, an occasional breeze and the crackling of dried leaves accompanied the strange thumps, scratching, hissing and growling of the dark creatures that dwelled in Mirkwood.  The elves shifted uneasily as they peered ahead, their powerful eyesight never being relieved of the shifty movements of dark squirrels, spiders and bats in the distance. Yet they traveled undisturbed, feeling like blind men knowingly walking towards the edge of a steep cliff. At any moment they would walk into an attack and they knew it. 

As the sun set, the gray murky darkness gradually became more opaque – so opaque it seemed as if the riders would see more through a blindfold than through the thick black ocean in which they rode. Aragorn became aware of his own heavy breathing and the thumping of his heart as his sense of sight diminished.  He often had to fight the urge to call out to the others, so often he felt as if he had wandered into a dark tunnel separating him from the rest of the group. The crunching of leaves and twigs under the horses' hooves was Aragorn's only way of knowing he was not alone.

When the darkness became so thick they could not see an arm's length ahead of them, Gandalf stopped and lit a small torch. The blaze cast an eerie shadow on the wizard's lined face while the rest of his body remained cloaked in the pitch black night, making him look like a pasty apparition.

"We will stop here for the night and make a fire. Aragorn, you will take the first watch tonight, followed by Legolas, myself, Bratherond and Cièdron. Merionè will rest fully…"

"Mithrandir! I can take a watch!" Merionè insisted, distressed that the wizard, for whatever reason, seemed to doubt his current strength.

"Do not argue with me!" Gandalf scolded, though he softened his tone as he gazed sternly at the elf. "One person will rest fully each night as long as we are all together – tomorrow it will be someone else. You could use the rest Merionè." 

Merionè frowned, but did not argue further with the wizard as he dejectedly climbed off of his horse. As soon as Gandalf had finished, Aragorn gathered enough twigs to make a small fire and the group settled cautiously around it. The sinister hisses and bustling did not cease, but the sounds seemed to travel through a thick foam wall as the eerie quiet of night muffled everything around them.  Everyone shuddered nervously as they strained their ears and eyes, trying to locate the blinking yellow orbs that stared hungrily at them only to disappear in the darkness a moment later. After a few long minutes, Cièdron broke the tense silence. His voice was thick and lower than usual as he struggled to ease his frightened nerves.

"Merionè, what were they like? The Avari? And the Nazgul? What did they do to you and your warriors?"

Merionè stiffened, slightly startled at Cièdron's question and the sudden attention he received as everyone turned expectantly to him. The flames' shadows emphasized the apprehension carved into the elf's pale face. 

"I…I would… I would rather not talk about that now… Forgive me, Prince Cièdron, I would rather not…" Merionè stuttered looking first at Cièdron and then towards the ground as he nervously wrung his hands.

Taken aback by Merionè's reaction, Cièdron quickly assured the elf, "That is all right Merionè! I did not realize… I thought…I'm sorry…"

Bratherond leaned forward from the shadows and fixed his accusing eyes on Cièdron. His golden hair turned orange in the fire's vivid glow and the crackling of embers preceded his condescending words. 

"This is not a swashbuckling adventure to be shared by a campfire, Prince Cièdron. You will soon discover these journeys are not so easy to talk about."

Again Cièdron was taken aback. He blinked and guiltily looked away as he answered, "I know that… I… well, I was just wondering…"

"What you got yourself into? Way over your head, I assure you, young prince," Bratherond finished as he leaned back into the shadow, his hair changing from orange to grey as the darkness fell over him. 

"You speak like a fool Bratherond! He knows exactly what he got himself into! He never assumed this to be another 'adventure'," Legolas exclaimed scathingly as he angrily rose from the ground. The flames' shadows now danced upon Legolas's features as he suddenly appeared in their light. 

Bratherond chuckled. "You both have much to learn. You have not seen darkness. You have not the faintest idea what you have gotten yourself into. Even the most competitive archery tournaments cannot prepare you for what you are about to encounter, Prince Legolas."

Now Cièdron's eyes flashed as he bolted furiously to Legolas's side. "Bratherond, you have no right to presume anything about either of us. You do not know what we have experienced and you do not know what our capabilities are!"

"Enough!" Merionè shouted as he gazed pleadingly at the three elves. "I do not wish to be the cause of such quarrels when quarrelling will only result in us all being killed. Prince Cièdron, Prince Legolas, please… sit and rest… I promise I will tell you everything that has happened to me in due time. You have my word." This promise was uttered quietly like an oath not eagerly given. Gandalf raised an eyebrow at the strain he sensed in Merionè's voice and found himself wondering what other dark tales lay hidden in the elf's memory. 

Cièdron pursed his lips and looked ready to attack Bratherond, but again displayed considerable self control when he merely returned heatedly to his seat. Legolas followed and neither of the brothers heard when Bratherond muttered under his breath, 

"I do not doubt your capabilities, I merely worry that you know not what you are in for…"

Another short, crackling silence ensued and once again Cièdron broke it, his voice level, but hard. 

"Do not call us prince."

The others looked up and confusedly raised their eyebrows. Aragorn alone seemed to understand Cièdron's intent and he calmly considered the elf.

"Do not call you prince?" Merionè asked uncertainly.

Cièdron locked his gaze on Merionè and firmly replied. "Titles are meaningless here – if anything they are dangerous for all of us. We are not princes now. We are scouts- we are of the same ranking as you." He ignored Bratherond's snort at this. 

"Aye, that is wise," Gandalf murmured. "There is no need to advertise any royalty here. I would rather not add any icing to this cake for whatever hungry creatures are spying us. You do agree, don't you Strider?"

Aragorn smiled grimly at the slightly baffled faces that turned towards him, not knowing at first who Gandalf was addressing as 'Strider.' 

"Of course I do Gandalf. I have no desire to be the icing to any creature, though I would prefer to not be a cake either..."

"Ah, well, we cannot change everything about ourselves," Gandalf mumbled as he gazed suspiciously at the lurking shadows and bulging eyes around them.

Aragorn followed Gandalf's gaze, but his own search was to no avail. The shadows seemed to wander aimlessly, with no creatures to claim them as their own.  This did not comfort anyone however as their eyes darted nervously from tree to tree.  Merionè closed his own eyes in an attempt to momentarily shut out this world and the world within his memories, revived by Cièdron's question. Suddenly, the elf began to sing softly. His melodic voice trickled through the stifled air like a gentle stream.

_Upon the grey and ageless seas_

_Where widows mourn no more_

_My soul will sing of ages past_

_And leave the shadowed shore_

_I will sail across the vast grey seas_

_I will heed the seagulls' song_

_I will follow the gentle ocean breeze_

_To the land where I belong_

The hearts of all those present, darkened by the evil of the wood, were filled with melancholy and longing. But the bittersweet sadness of the song suited the riders better than the deafening silence and wicked noises. Gandalf put down his pipe which he had just taken out, and studied Merionè closely, paying keen attention to his words. _Something gnaws at his soul. There is more to this dark tale than what he has already told us.  _

Aragorn stared dumbly at the ground, for the elves' sea longing never failed to tug at his heart and remind him of the grief Middle Earth now faced as the Eldar passed away and he did not wish to witness their distant faces as they fell under the song's enchantment.  Legolas and Cièdron sat as still as ice as they listened to the sweet melody and soothing voice. Their blue eyes were so distant it was difficult to tell if they were lost in elven dreams now, or still present in the wakened world. 

The sudden snap of a bowstring and whoosh of an arrow awoke all from their trances. Merionè bolted up as a giant, hideous spider landed at his feet, struck dead by an arrow, its black blood oozing out and staining the elf's boots. His wide eyes darted from the spider to Bratherond, who slowly lowered his bow and now glared furiously at the shocked elf. 

"Merionè! You were nearly attacked! Did you not hear the spider?!" Bratherond shouted as he kicked the dead spider aside. "I thought you had it under control! You said it wouldn't distract you!" 

"I…I… I didn't… I must have slipped…" Merionè blinked and gaped at the spider, still feeling rather disoriented.

"Well you could have been killed and you had everyone else distracted as well!" Bratherond paused and asked carefully, stridently articulating each word. "Merionè, are you sure you are able to do this? Or will Ulmo's song ensnare your senses and doom us all?"

A loud screech interrupted Bratherond and he jumped back as another dead spider fell, this time at his feet. Bratherond whipped around in time to find Legolas lowering his bow. 

"You must be wary of your own senses Bratherond. It seems your ill temper has distracted you," Legolas said pointedly with a dark smirk. Then as quick as lightning, he released another shot at a target just behind Bratherond.  The infuriated elf caught his breath as he felt the arrow pierce the air inches from his cheek. With a thud, another spider fell from its silk thread behind him. Legolas then returned his sharp gaze to Bratherond. 

"You are right Bratherond. This is more difficult than an archery tournament. Whereas in a tournament, I know exactly where to strike, it is rather difficult here to know who I should be aiming at." 

By now, the entire group had leapt to their feet and grasped their weapons defensively as they scanned the area for more spiders. Though Bratherond glared at Legolas, he turned again swiftly to help in scouring the trees and bramble. Cièdron grimly caught Legolas's eye and shook his head, indicating for Legolas to hold his tongue against Bratherond.  Aragorn stealthily pulled aside branches and listened carefully to the quiet wood surrounding the fire. The eyes had disappeared with the arrows, diving back into the darkness from which they peeked. 

"There does not appear to be anymore of them," Aragorn finally announced as he sheathed his sword. 

"Aye," Gandalf agreed as he slowly emerged from the shadows of the trees into the orange glow of the fire. The wizard gazed intently at each elf. "Though they may remain dormant for now, their eyes are always upon us. They can sense our weakness." 

Gandalf's eyes lingered pensively on Merionè. "I believe you should now get some rest, Merionè," the wizard gently advised. Merionè nodded numbly and sat down against a tree. Again he tightly closed his eyes and grasped his bow as he struggled to relax his frazzled mind. 

"And so should the rest of us for we will be traveling at daybreak tomorrow. Aragorn, you have the first watch." Gandalf sighed wearily as he lowered himself against a tree.

One by one, the other elves nervously sat down against the trees. Though they all longed to climb their branches and perch themselves high above the ground, none felt safe leaving the company of the others, especially considering the company they were likely to find dwelling in the tangled branches above them. Again the creaking silence descended all around them though mercifully, the watchful yellow eyes for the moment remained hidden. 

Aragorn seated himself on a large rock and stared into the nothingness ahead of him. The flames of the fire broke the darkness just enough to reveal the lurking shadows no more than ten feet away.  With a sigh, he pulled out his pipe and inhaled the soothing smoke, feeling his muscles relax as he did so. For less than an hour, the ranger sat attentively, his keen senses paying heed to every sound and shadow that crept around the group. As long as he kept watch, he was determined not to allow a trace of evil disturb the sleeping elves and wizard. 

Thus when Legolas arose and quietly approached from behind, Aragorn greeted him without even turning around, recognizing immediately the light footsteps of an elf and surmising that only one amongst the elves was likely to join him. 

"You should be resting Legolas," Aragorn said dully between smoke rings, still paying careful attention to the black forest. 

"I thought you could use some company _Strider. Besides, I find it hard to sleep when I feel so many eyes upon me," Legolas answered softly so that he would not wake the others._

"Your arrows frightened them for now. If there are eyes upon you, they are merely watching you in fear that you may choose to lift your bow again." 

Legolas chuckled and sat beside Aragorn. "Or they are waiting until I finally let my guard down to carry out their revenge on me."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Are you truly frightened of these woods, Legolas?"

"Are you truly not?" Legolas returned. The elf then released a sigh and studied the thick sinister forest. 

"Nay, Legolas, I am, but I thought perhaps elves would see it differently…"

"Yes, we do see it differently Aragorn. We remember it as it once was, even if we were not yet born when the trees were still green. And it frightens us to see the evil overtake such beauty so freely and rapidly." 

Aragorn nodded solemnly as he strove to picture the decaying trees around them as the spectacular, vivid oaks and beeches they once were. His mind then drifted to Merionè. The elf's momentary lapse had worried him deeply. But it was not the group's safety that concerned him so much as the elf's own well being.  

"Legolas what ails Merionè? Is it the sea longing?" 

Legolas frowned and shook his head gently. 

"Nay Aragorn, it is more than that. He has had the sea longing for many years now - for as long as I have known him in fact, which would be my entire life. Merionè was one of Círdan's mariners until he traveled eastward from Lindon with Oropher – that is a story that I will save for another dark night. But he has always dreamed of returning and of building a ship as grand as one of Círdan's. Then he could sail beyond even the havens, for it is truly the sea alone that he loves and his heart yearns to explore what lies beyond the western shores. It is out of loyalty to Ada that he stays... He has been waiting many long centuries for this darkness to pass so that he could sail freely, without the guilt of having left behind my father and Greenwood."

Legolas paused for a moment and glanced at Merionè, who much to his relief, now slept with his eyes open and appeared to be at peace.  His voice was barely a whisper when he continued.

"He has always kept it under control and has even been one of my father's best warriors despite it. I do not know what plagues him now that it has suddenly risen up inside of him like a brewing storm..."

Aragorn shifted and glanced at Merionè before inhaling deeply on his pipe. As he exhaled, he muttered softly, "Sauron's forces have the power to ignite all of our darkest fears and longings. He can twist the minds of the most powerful men and elves. It is a miracle Merionè escaped the servants of Sauron at all without further damage…"

"They used him as a messenger. They wanted him to escape," Legolas reminded the ranger.

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully. "Aye, they did…" 

Legolas frowned at the doubt that laced the human's voice, but did not press him further. 

"You should sleep now Strider. I can take over from here."

Aragorn shook his head. "Nay Legolas, I am not tired. I could take over your watch tonight."

Legolas scoffed at this. "Do not be so foolish human. Your mind may tell you that you need no sleep, but your body is begging for at least a moment's respite."

"My body is satisfied with resting right here. I will allow you to take over the watch, but let me just sit here for a bit, for my mind will not sleep just yet."

Legolas sighed and nodded complacently.  The two sat in an amicable silence for several minutes before Aragorn finally decided to leave Legolas and attempt to get a few hours of sleep, though his restless mind would not give in so easily.  The remainder of the night was uneventful as the watches continued and everyone struggled to block out the dark shadows that haunted their minds as they sought the relief of happy dreams.

As planned, the riders continued at daybreak.  Though the pink sky remained hidden, they were grateful for the pale light that crept in through the cracks between the branches. After suffering through the baleful black night, the forest somehow felt less menacing than it did when they first left Thranduil's halls. Cold chills still tickled their spines however and the feeling of being watched never allowed their senses to relax. 

Day turned into night and night turned into day as the riders trekked on, hoping for something, anything, to happen – a change in scenery, the light at the end of the tunnel. But the bleak forest mocked them with its redundant darkness and there was nothing they could do but wait - wait for the yellow eyes to decide it was time to attack, for the orc horns to wail just in front of them, for the Nazgul's chill to freeze them or for their own shadowed minds to descend into madness.  Merionè offered a few songs to lift their spirits and Legolas attempted to lighten the mood with stories and jests, but their efforts foundered and eventually even Legolas fell into a depressed silence. Cièdron frowned at his brother's dire mood and decided to lure back his Legolas's lighthearted spirit. 

"Tell me Legolas, have you lost all your cheer so soon?  Truly, I did not think the darkness would take you so easily," Cièdron teased half-heartedly.

Legolas offered his brother a meek smile. "Nay, Cièdron, I only hide my cheer now. But do not worry, when we return, I will take you to the highest trees and we will walk amongst the leaves and our cheer will be restored."

"And perhaps we can give Filinor a few more songs to sing about our journeys!" Cièdron suggested.

"Well I certainly will, but I do not know if you will be clever enough to," Legolas taunted. 

"Is that a challenge then Legolas?" Cièdron asked as he cocked an eyebrow.

Legolas's shadowed eyes suddenly brightened. "Aye Cièdron! It is! When we return, we will compose songs of our journeys and Filinor and Käriler can judge them. Whoever's is best…"

"Will get the first taste of the new autumn import of the Lake–men's wine… and will determine how many glasses the other must drink as the losing party…"  Cièdron finished happily. 

Legolas laughed, "Cièdron, you could not hold down two glasses of the Lake-men's wine!"

"Well, I will not have to, because it will be you who will have to hold down twelve glasses!" Cièdron smugly replied.

Legolas gaped at his brother. "You would have me drink twelve glasses of the Lake-men's wine?!" 

"Do you not think you would be able to?"

"Nay! I could hold down twenty if I wanted to!"

Cièdron raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? Well then, twenty it will be!"

Merionè smiled wistfully at the two elves as they continued to optimistically plan their futures beyond this scouting trip, as so many young ones do when they simply cannot comprehend how dire their situations may actually be. Gandalf and Aragorn exchanged amused glances, their hearts lightened by the elves' banter. Bratherond however remained stoic and scowled slightly when the brothers did not cease, but for now he kept his irritation to himself. 

Finally Gandalf cleared his throat. "As far as I can remember, neither of you are very capable of holding down five, let alone twenty, of the Lake-men's wine.  But I suggest you worry about that when we are at least on our way back to Thranduil's halls, not when we have only just left."

Legolas and Cièdron guiltily avoided the wizard's glance, having forgotten that he had been present the last time they had made a similar bet. The brief merry interlude quickly dissipated and again the malevolent forces of Mirkwood darkened everyone's mood. 

Aragorn chuckled, but then tensed when a sudden shift in the winds so slight only a ranger would note it, caught his attention. He sniffed the air suspiciously and furrowed his brows as a sudden thought occurred to him. The ranger nimbly climbed off of his horse and squatted to pick up a few dry leaves. As he carefully studied the leaves, he asked the elves tentatively,

"Tell me, when was the last time rain fell upon Mirkwood?"

Legolas and Cièdron frowned as they struggled to recall the last great rainfall. They had been enjoying weeks of beautiful weather, and it seemed ages ago that any rain had fallen upon their realm. 

"We have not seen any rain for two months in our part of the wood," Bratherond finally answered. 

 Aragorn frowned grimly. "It seems it has been many months since these parts have seen rain as well…" he muttered as he crushed a dry leaf in his hand.  

Immediately Gandalf picked up on the ranger's concern. "Aragorn, do you smell anything unusual?" 

"Nay Gandalf, I only sensed that the winds have shifted and that made me wonder about the recent weather in these woods…" The ranger stood up and climbed back on his horse. "We should be fine, we simply must be wary of our fires." 

"And those eyes..." Cièdron added nervously. Aragorn looked up at the bright, unblinking orbs that suddenly multiplied around them. He gripped the hilt of his sword and the others did the same, but after several long uneventful minutes, he sighed and started forward. 

"They are the same eyes as always… No doubt they are waiting for an opportunity to attack, but until they decide it is time, there is little we could do," Aragorn said drearily. 

"Which is why we should not waste our attention on childish matters such as song-making and drinking…" Bratherond grumbled quietly. 

Unfortunately for everyone, Legolas's and Cièdron's hearing was as keen as any elf's, and they did not miss Bratherond's snide remark. And they did not resist the urge to snap back at him, nor could Bratherond resist the urge to scold them even more. In a few short moments, the entire group's attention was focused on calming the quarreling elves, though Aragorn struggled to keep his attention focused elsewhere as all his senses screamed at him to remain alert. 

Thus the opportunity had arrived, and the sinister creatures that had been watching and waiting patiently would not wait any longer.  Aragorn looked away only briefly as his horse galloped ahead. Though he called for the others to follow, he was too late in rekindling their focus. A hungry growl, a stifled scream, the loud thump of a body crashing to the ground and the responding yells and scuffling for weapons answered Aragorn's call. When he whipped around, he found the entire group frantically fighting off a dozen fierce wargs that had suddenly leapt at them from the shadows.  His heart clenched and fell to his stomach when he noted one panicking horse was without its rider. But his own scream was drowned out by Legolas's distressed cry. 

"CIÈDRON!"                                                  

**TBC**

Woohoo! I have succeeded in moving on to Part 2 of my little story-that-could. Thank you everyone! 

Oh my goodness… oh my goodness… *ok, tereza, breathe now… just breathe in, breathe out…breathe in… breathe out…* Oh who am I kidding? AAAAHHH!!! **THUNDERA TIGER** HAS REVIEWED ME!!!! (I can't handle this! Bryn, now Thundera Tiger!) Once again, like Bryn, you have no way of knowing how much I adore your stories, but as corny as this may sound, you are the reason I first started to come to fanfic. So before I thank you for the unbelievable review, I must thank you for your stories because they are amazing and I should have submitted 50 reviews for While the Ring Went South alone, I enjoyed that story so much. And don't even get me started on the others – even if you are used to the much deserved praise, I will make you blush. So thank you and thank you for the review! Holy cow, that was so flattering… I'm just so glad you liked it...

**Alexa****: LOL- wow, what a review! Ok, where do I start? Well, sorry the last chapt wasn't long enough…I needed to get in that last little bit before I finally set the boys off… I completely agree with you about Peter Jackson's Legolas and I think that might have been what got me started on my own little fanfic.  I do think Orlando Bloom was fabulous, but my own vision of Legolas is lighter… or more like he's this naturally lighthearted youthful elf, but now he must deal with this darkness, yet he still retains that cheerful spirit – and at the same time he's pretty wise and can be a hell of a fighter. My favorite scene in the book is when they're on Caradhras and Legolas offers to go fetch the sun, then comes hopping back happily and while everyone is shivering and miserable he cheerfully jokes about how the sun wouldn't come- I was disappointed that wasn't included in the movie. And my vision of the wood elves in general is like that, based mainly of course on how they're portrayed in the hobbit- that's what makes them so interesting to me. And so sad! **

Hehe… so there are many weasley twin lovers out there. I actually love the whole family. And I have seen Pirates of the Caribbean and I was surprised at how much I ended up liking it! Johnny Depp is always wonderful of course and I was also impressed with Orlando Bloom. Very cool sword fighting… very very cool…I'm already planning on seeing it again 

**Dot**: Chapter 9 was for you – I was thinking you may like it as I was writing it. I wanted to get in one more light chapter before they left, since it will be a while before I could fit one in again. Anyway, I'm so glad you enjoyed it! 

**Ecri****:** You are wonderful! A review for each chapter in one night! That was absolutely awesome! Thank you so much!

**Elfling**: Don't apologize for not reviewing the other ones! I appreciate even just one review J Legolas and Aragorn singing & dancing huh? Now there's something I'd enjoy…

**Gwyn**: Oooh…. I like the way your mind works… yes, Legolas does have two ivory daggers in the movie… hmmm…. 

**iverson** :** is this soon enough? *g* **

**Lisette****: So glad you enjoyed it! I was floored when I saw Thundera Tiger put me on her faves... Yes, looking back, I may have made their fighting a little to the extreme, but well… maybe they were just having a bad week? **

**LittleLoopy25: I'm glad you like Cièdron! I'm really so relieved to be getting such a positive response to him because I know how wary people are of original characters that are relatives to the main ones – and yes, I know exactly what you mean about the infamous sister who amazingly is just as capable a warrior as Legolas (and her fiery beauty rivals that of Arwen, yet she hides a deep and painful past and she captures the hearts of the other 8 members of the fellowship…)**

**LOTRFaith****:  You know, already I miss Thranduil. He truly is so much fun to write and I'm glad others like the way I wrote him!**

**Maranwe****: Hello there! Yes, the fun does begin now… angst, bad guys, darkness, oh my! I don't really have a specific day that I post… I try to do it weekly, but in a couple of weeks, I will be moving & starting law school, so who knows what my schedule will be like (ugh… I would much rather be writing about Aragorn, legolas & company, than legal opinions or whatever they'll be making me do…)**

**Nilbrethiliel: Hey there! That's allright dear, its all ok, I understand! No need to apologize ;) Yay! You liked my little silly songs! I also would like to see Aragorn kick Bratherond's butt – I'd like to see them all give him a swift kick in the arse actually, but then again, he may not be sooo bad….**

**Phoenix23531**:  Eek… sorry! You're right-  I actually feel like I should have known that – or at least, now that I think of it, in all the books that I've read and movies I've seen, swords were never t so carelessly tossed away. You know, I could have used you for that chapter because when I came to the duel, I was very uncertain about how to write it and I actually tried searching the web for medieval swordfighting information for inspiration. But anyway, thank you for the review & many thanks for the information! As for the Kalevala, the particular translation I have is by Francis Peabody Magoun, Jr, published by the Harvard University Press in 1963 and the poems themselves were compiled by Elias Lönnrot. I actually found it in the local Barnes & Noble. I don't know if there are others out there, but I have been happy with this one.  There was also a National Geographic special on Tolkien and the influences for the Lord of the Rings, with a special section devoted to the Kalevala which I thought was pretty interesting. 

**RainyDayz****: Do not fret! There will be plenty of brotherly love (I think... hmmm… well yeah… there should be…) Ah well, they do love each other, and I promise that will come out.**

**Shaan**** Lien**:  Thank you! I don't know if I'm going to write up to the fellowship… *quickly checks handy dandy lotr timeline* eek! That's another 80 years at least! 

**Susie: **Thank you! Ooh! I distracted someone from a conversation with her boyfriend! I consider that an accomplishment (though I certainly hope he was not too annoyed!) I think I've said this before, but I love writing the elves because I find their personalities so interesting – the combination of light and dark, melancholy and mirth, etc.  I will definitely get to all the things you are looking forward to seeing (I am looking forward to writing them as well!)

**WeasleyTwins**: I'm glad you liked it! Yes, I do see your point about Cièdron…hmm hmm hmm 

There seems to be a tiny bit of a debate about whether I should knock off Cièdron or not! Poor guy… Well, for obvious reasons, I won't give my opinion of what I think should happen to him ;) But I'm very excited because I now have this story 99% sorted out to the end (in my head that is),which means I will someday finish it and though I'm flexible I do believe I will stick to my original plan for Cièdron and the rest of them (mwa ha ha ha).  


	11. The Sons of Thranduil

Claimer: I claim Cièdron, Bratherond, and Merionè. (the rest I'm afraid I cannot)

Ah, another long one….  

**Chapter 11 **

**The Sons of Thranduil**

*** * ***

_"Which is why we should not waste our attention on childish matters such as song-making and drinking…" Bratherond grumbled quietly._

"Bratherond, just because you are about as cheery as Mount Doom, does not mean the rest of us must allow this darkness to foul our spirits!" Cièdron snapped, turning furiously towards the quietly brooding elf.  Though a part of him tended to agree with Bratherond that now was no time to be concentrating on such frivolous pleasures when a warg or Orc could leap out of the woods at any moment, his heart ached to see Legolas in such a grim mood.  It may have been against his better judgment to distract his and Legolas' attention from the danger surrounding them, but it was worth it to hear his brother's mirthful laugh. For a moment, it felt as if they were back in Thranduil's halls, not in this terrible black forest where not even the sun or the stars shone.  _But one can always count on Bratherond to hail in the storm clouds…_

 "It is not your spirits I wish to darken, but your minds I wish to focus!" Bratherond sputtered in return. The elf now brought his mount to a halt and turned to face the brothers. _It is as I thought! They do not realize the danger! They think they could get away with playful antics and distractions! Ai! I would that they learn from me that they cannot treat this so lightly, but I fear it will take a pack of wargs to knock some sense into them!_

"Well you have managed to darken our spirits and distract our minds, Bratherond, so you have failed in that task!" Legolas stopped his own horse and glared viciously at Bratherond, losing all trace of his earlier mirth as annoyance and frustration trickled back into his eyes.   

With a groan Merionè pulled his horse next to the three elves. "You are all growing too distracted now! Please, I beg of you, quit this reckless quarrelling! We may as well lay down our weapons, set off Mithrandir's firecrackers and sit here and wait for our enemies to attack! Do you not see? We are allowing this darkness to overpower us!"

Gandalf too pulled his horse aside, "Aye! This is foolish! Our missions are far too important and we are not each other's enemies! This is exactly what Sauron wants! Come now, let us follow Aragorn, he is already getting far ahead…"

As the wizard spoke, Merionè glanced around nervously and noticed that the eyes around them proliferated like blinking stars emerging in a darkening night sky.  His horse let out a fretful neigh, and in response, Merionè backed away slightly from the fight, focusing his attention on the terrible, yellow eyes instead. They darted eagerly from one quarreling elf to another, waiting for the elves to let down their guard completely.

Bratherond sneered, "Aye, the _human has more sense than us. Soon we will be following dwarves…"_

"You will not speak of him in that way!! You know not who you insult!" Legolas yelled, causing his horse to twitch and neigh nervously. 

"Peace Legolas!" Gandalf shushed as his own horse began to twitch nervously.  The wizard too had a heavy feeling something was amiss and the eyes lured his attention away from the fight as well. 

"I am not insulting him, and I do know who he is, he is a descendent of those who got us into this mess in the first place! To point out the intrinsic flaws in humans is not to insult them! I merely speak the truth!"

Like distant waves, the heated dispute dimmed in Merionè's ears as he reluctantly turned his head around to perceive that the eyes were slowly inching towards them…

A searing flash brightened Legolas' livid eyes as he gripped his horse's hair with trembling hands. "You will take that back Bratherond," he seethed.

Suddenly, Merionè's horse bucked and neighed fretfully. He heard Gandalf curse beside him as his horse panicked suddenly as well.  Gray shadows now materialized behind those horrible eyes.

"BRATHEROND, LEGOLAS, CIÈDRON, ARM YOURSELVES! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!" Merionè shouted as he swiftly pulled out his bow and let fly a series of arrows just as at least a dozen wargs roared ferociously and bounded out of the black shadows. Though a few of his arrows found their marks, he instantly berated himself when he realized he should have set his aim in another direction…

Merionè's cry was belated as it came when the snarling, frothing beasts were already upon the riders. In stunned horror, Legolas watched as a warg flew straight at his brother's side, its razor claws gripping his tunic as they toppled to the ground. 

"CIÈDRON!" 

Without thinking, Legolas nimbly leapt off his own mount and slid beneath Cièdron's bucking horse, paying no heed to the risk of getting crushed by its hooves. In an instant, he lay next to his brother who, not having the time to unsheathe any weapons, now struggled to hold back the warg's powerful snapping jaws as they feverishly clamped closer and closer to his neck. 

Legolas wasted no time in taking advantage of his freed position to whip out his ivory knife and drive it into the warg's neck, rolling as he did so just out of the way of the heavy hooves of Cièdron's frantic horse. He pushed the warg off of his brother as he pulled out the knife, but not before the creature's crimson blood spurted furiously onto Cièdron's face and heaving chest.  Legolas' roll ended with him supporting himself above his brother, his fair, panicked face taking the place of the frightful warg in Cièdron's blurred and bloodied vision.   

"Cièdron! Are you ok?!" Legolas panted, but before Cièdron could answer, another warg landed heavily on Legolas' back, causing him to collapse on top of his brother, violently knocking the air out of both of their lungs. His face fell into the ground next to Cièdron's head and he struggled to push himself up, but the warg on top of him proved to be too heavy. Legolas gasped as he felt its sharp claws begin to dig into his back and its steamy breath tickle his neck. He braced himself, expecting at any moment to feel the warg's teeth painfully dig into his neck. _And so this is how it will end... Ai! Please let him be satisfied with just me! Please do not take Cièdron as well!_

Cièdron's eyes widened as the warg redirected its ravenous gaze from the back of Legolas' neck to his own unguarded face and the elf lurched desperately against the weight of both Legolas and the warg, straining to reach his weapon. Feeling Cièdron's sudden struggle and not feeling the pain of his neck being crushed or the hot breath upon it, Legolas instantly guessed that the warg had chosen his brother instead for prey. Using every last ounce of his strength, he struggled even more fervently than he had when it was his own life on the brink, frantically striving to lift himself so that Cièdron could reach his knife. '_No! Please take me! Leave him be!'_ he begged of whatever power may be listening. He did not even know whether he yelled this out loud or only in his mind.

But pinned down as he was, Cièdron held little hope in fighting off the warg.  Accepting his fate, he squeezed his eyes shut when the dagger-like teeth snapped just inches away from his face, causing him to nearly choke on its putrid breath. Fear fled from him and all Cièdron could feel was a numb sadness that his brother would no doubt blame himself for his death. If Legolas even survived this! _Ai, please just take me, do not take Legolas too… just me…_

Suddenly, Cièdron felt a warm, sticky liquid drip on his face again and he heard the clinking and gurgling of hungry, clamping jaws cease with a stifled yelp. His eyes snapped open in time to see the warg roll off of Legolas' back with one of the ranger's arrows protruding from its throat. 

Reacting quickly, Legolas jumped to his feet and pulled Cièdron up with him.  "Cièdron, are you…" Legolas began to ask again, panic clouding his eyes.

"Legolas, I am fine," Cièdron interrupted curtly as he furiously drew out his own dagger. 

Legolas could not control his grin, so great was his relief that not only was Cièdron not seriously injured, he was now as ready as he was to dive into the bloody battle they had somehow landed themselves into.  A split second passed as the brothers caught each other's eyes and with a slight nod they whipped around gracefully so that they stood back to back, surveying the violent scene around them. 

* * *

Immediately after turning around and seeing Cièdron's horse without Cièdron, Aragorn kicked his horse and galloped back towards the group. As he did so, he watched in amazement as Legolas dived to his brother's side, just missing being crushed underneath the hooves of Cièdron's horse.  When a moment later he glimpsed another warg leaping atop Legolas, he drew his bow and calling on the Valar to bless his aim, shot an arrow just as the warg leaned forward to put an end to Cièdron.

But Aragorn did not have the chance to make sure his arrow met its target as he galloped straight into the midst of the chaotic battle. Swiftly replacing his bow with his sword, he began to skewer the wargs one by one, until one finally realized it would be best to attack the ranger from behind, thus catching him off guard and knocking him to the ground. Grimacing at the shooting pain that ripped up his side, Aragorn rolled over to find himself face to face with a snarling warg. With a loud grunt, he grabbed his sword, which had fallen to his side, and swung it up, leaving a deep gash in the wolf's side. Merionè's own sword finished the warg off and the elf quickly helped Aragorn to his feet.

"There are more of them coming!" Merionè yelled to the ranger as he swung his sword at two attacking wargs before spinning around to stab another one in midair as it jumped straight at him.  Merionè and Aragorn continued to cover each other's backs, stabbing one warg only to immediately help the other wrestle off another.  

The horses now thrashed about violently, kicking away the endless onslaught of wolves nipping at their legs and neck and sending up storms of dust and leaves to add to the confusion.  Bratherond jumped off of his own bucking mount and pierced a warg that had been biting the horse's hind legs, before ordering the horse to flee. 

"The princes! Where are the princes!?" Bratherond kept yelling above the frenzied struggle around him. As soon as Cièdron had toppled from his horse, Bratherond, Merionè, and Gandalf found themselves with their own wargs to battle. Only by diving off of his horse, did Legolas miss being immediately attacked.  

Gandalf remained on his mount and swung his staff dangerously, its fatal blow never missing its mark. The wizard did not lose his balance nor cease his swinging as his horse jumped to its hind legs and vigorously leapt around the beasts and weaved through the trees. He knocked one warg to the ground just as it was about to land on Merionè's back and then moved swiftly to aid Bratherond by bludgeoning a warg seconds away from pouncing upon him. 

"Be gone, abominable servants of Sauron! Into the fiery pits of Mordor is where you shall brood! A dark fate for dark creatures who challenge Gandalf the Grey! Away!! " the wizard cried as he walloped another warg with his staff. 

* * *

Separated from the others, Legolas and Cièdron were able to maintain their back-to-back stance for a short while as they fought off the attacking wolves. But they quickly found themselves backing even further away from the group as the vicious creatures continued to trample towards them.  Like ants flooding out of their nest, more wargs emerged from the shadowy woods and gravitated towards the princes. Though their long knives cut through them swiftly and mortally, they were soon surrounded by a half circle of snarling, heinous wargs. The beasts paused and considered the elves, mocking their dire situation.  Their yelps and roars quieted to soft, threatening growls as they prepared to take down their easy prey.  Behind them the battle raged on though none within it could possibly break free in time to help the two elves.

Slowly Cièdron and Legolas backed up, never removing their icy eyes from the yellow ones of the wargs that now steadily closed in on them.  They may have only had a fool's hope now, but that did not mean they would go down without a fight. They would certainly not be easy prey and the elves made this known through their steely stares.

When left with nothing but a fool's hope, one must also resort to a fool's plan. But even the most foolish of plans may prove to be successful in desperate situations. Or at least this is what Legolas hoped when a rather ridiculous idea occurred to him.  He only hoped Cièdron would be foolish enough to go with it.

"Cièdron," Legolas softly hissed as he stealthily placed his knife in its sheath and reached behind his back. "What would Alasse do in this situation?" Legolas asked this in elvish as he carefully wrapped his hand around his bow, never removing his eyes from the wargs.

Cièdron smirked darkly, immediately picking up on his brother's cryptic plan. Feeling desperate enough to actually follow it, he too cautiously reached behind him for his own bow. "I believe, dear brother, that she would confuse the hell out of these foul creatures and then shoot the ones that least expected to be shot." 

The bond that the brothers shared never worked more in their favor as both instantly knew what to do without having to further elaborate their plan.  Quicker than a mortal eye could perceive, they both whisked out their bows and to the complete surprise and utter confusion of the wargs, they turned and took aim at each other.  If any of the others could pause from their own battle to watch Legolas and Cièdron, they would see an intimidating display of the two brothers in what appeared to be a dangerous contest of wills. Tall and proud they both stood, steadily holding their bows with the bowstring taut and the arrow pulled back, its deadly point aimed directly at the other's heart. 

Stunned by this seemingly idiotic move, or perhaps wondering if the two elves were actually enemies of each other, the wargs hesitated for a moment. Then, a warg at each end of the semi-circle, having found themselves out of view of the two elves as they now faced each other, took advantage of this obvious opportunity to leap at their backs. 

But this was exactly what the brothers expected, and just as the wargs' feet left the ground they swiveled their aims and the twang of their bows tore through the air. The wargs fell dead to the ground as the elves swerved their aims again and shot two more pairs of arrows, instantly killing four more wargs. They then quickly traded their bows once again for their daggers to fight off the rest that came plummeting at them at once. 

"Cièdron! Remember how Jerilaen shot her arrows!" Legolas shouted as he simultaneously sliced the snout of one warg and with his other hand punched the throat of another.

Cièdron certainly did remember Jerilaen. She had a most bizarre talent of being able to hold her crossbow above her head and shoot backwards, almost always hitting the target. The elf frowned and after pulling his dagger out of a warg, swung it up and backwards, stabbing another warg that came at him from behind, without even turning his head. Later, he would marvel at how he knew this was Legolas' way of warning him about a warg flying at him from behind, but now in the heat of the battle, his mind worked swiftly and instinctively, immediately allowing him to interpret Legolas' words and thoughts. 

"Legolas I do not think this is a time for any games…you could have just told me…" 

"Cièdron! Ada after we spilled wine in the council room!" Legolas interrupted as he swerved and wounded a warg to his right. 

Cièdron let out an aggravated sigh, but remembered the time Thranduil slipped on their wine and fell flat on his face.  The brothers later joked that he had looked so angry they thought he may pounce at both of them like a starving warg. Thus Cièdron assumed a warg was similarly prone behind him. He quickly swiveled around and with an underhand strike, stabbed the neck of a squatting wolf.  

"Legolas, that was a more difficult one… Had I not gotten it…" Cièdron trailed off as he struggled with another warg that came up behind the other.

Through gritted teeth, Legolas continued his warnings, as he drove back one warg only to have to instantly grapple with another. "Käriler and Filinor and the mules!!"

Cièdron's eyes widened slightly and after killing his warg, he quickly dropped his knife and grabbed his bow. Spinning around as he took aim between the trees, Cièdron shot at least six wargs flying at them from all directions. He then cast an arrow at Legolas' warg, killing it and releasing his brother from that fight. 

For a second the two caught their breath and smirked triumphantly at each other, but upon seeing three more wargs rushing towards them, Cièdron straightened and grabbed a branch above him. Finally giving in to Legolas' game, he shouted as he hoisted himself up, 

"Legolas! The fire in the foundries!"  

Remembering how he and Cièdron hid in the trees as three of the blacksmiths chased after them, suspecting they were somehow responsible for the fire, Legolas leapt up and followed Cièdron into the branch where the two shot at the three wargs, and then continued shooting as more wargs gathered, barking and growling at the base of the tree. 

* * *

Meanwhile, Bratherond continued to fight ruthlessly against the wargs, beheading and viciously gouging every unlucky creature that crossed his path, all the while struggling to locate the princes.  Every time he glimpsed one of them, another warg would jump in his way and by the time he finished with it, they disappeared behind their own share of wolves.  

"Legolas! Cièdron!" Bratherond shouted above the fray when he spotted the two elves further off in the woods, battling the ferocious ambush.  With a grizzly yell, he heaved, shoved, stabbed and punched a path through the bloody battle, determined to fight beside the princes himself.  His oath to Thranduil would not be broken so soon! 

But Bratherond's oath was also his weakness, as oaths so often are to those who speak them. So focused was he on reaching the elves, he took little heed to his own peril, and his narrowed senses failed to spot the two colossal wargs racing towards him from the right. 

With a surprised gasp, Bratherond crashed to the ground beneath a sinewy, powerful body, feeling as if he had just been struck by an enormous boulder. For a moment his vision blurred and darkened and he could not find his breath as it had been forced out of his lungs from his collapse. Bratherond grimaced as the beast's claws dug into his left arm, drawing blood and numbing it as it constricted the blood flow to his hand.   

But Bratherond was not an elf who would give up so easily.  '_As long as I stand Cièdron will stand!'_ he had promised Thranduil.  _By the Valar, then I will at least stand until Dol Guldur! We will not fail so soon!_

With a roar, the elf grasped his knife in his right hand and swung aimlessly above him and by some blessing of the Valar, his knife found its target embedded between the warg's ribs causing it to stumble off of him. 

But alas! As soon as he freed himself of one, his hands were immediately pinned down by the paws of the other.  Bratherond choked on his surprise and his eyes bulged in fear, but still he would not yield to the wolf and he kicked, squirmed, and yelled desperately, doing everything in his power to shake off the terrible warg.

The elf's struggles were futile though and he surely would have been doomed had it not been for one more blessing from the Valar. Yet the blessing came from what Bratherond would consider a most unlikely, most unthinkable place – or rather person.  Just as the warg prepared its final, mortal blow, a sword beheaded the creature… a human's sword… Aragorn's sword. 

Aragorn did not have to think twice when he saw Bratherond crushed under the heavy weight of the warg, seconds away from being mauled to pieces.  Bratherond may have been a haughty, disrespectful, narrow-minded, biased, intolerant braggart and a royal pain, but even this elf did not deserve such an end.  Thus Aragorn did not hesitate in saving the elf's life. 

Bratherond blinked in shock at the human above him, offering his hand to help him to his feet.  _A human saving an elf! Have I grown so weak? Bratherond grimaced at this thought, but grasped Aragorn's hand and quickly regained his composure. He struggled to find words to thank the ranger, but none came to him and the result was an awkward, forced nod, which Aragorn automatically returned.  The two then immediately continued to finish off the remaining wargs._

Merionè stabbed two last wargs before noticing the growing group at the base of one of Mirkwood's dark, gnarled trees. Upon seeing two arrows rip out of the tree, he grabbed his bow and began shooting at the huddled wargs. One by one, as Aragorn, Bratherond and Gandalf finished the wargs around them, Merionè calmly and with the grace of a seasoned warrior, shot down the last of the beasts that kept the princes in the tree until finally they all lay in a gory heap.  When he finished, he lowered his bow and waited patiently for Cièdron and Legolas to jump down. 

Bratherond and Aragorn, both fighting to catch their breath, ambled over to Merionè while Gandalf surveyed the macabre remnants of the battle. Over fifty wargs now lay dead, scattered amongst the twisted trees in pools of blood and fur. The wizard grimly shook his head and whistled for the other horses to return, not following Aragorn and Bratherond as they joined Merionè in waiting for the princes.

Bratherond anxiously followed Merionè's composed gaze and noted the pile of bloody, lifeless wargs at the base of the tree. "Where are they Merionè? By the Valar, they are not underneath that, are they?!" he gasped as he pointed at the pile. 

Merionè kept his gaze steady as he answered contemptuously, "Do you really think I would be standing here if they were underneath those wargs, Bratherond? They will be down in a moment."  

Aragorn studied the pile of wargs and the tree when suddenly a slight twitch and scuffle in the branches caught his attention. Merionè and Bratherond also saw the quaver and narrowed their eyes suspiciously. Suddenly, Aragorn caught a faint glimmer out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly to find the source of the gleam and gasped. The ranger's mind screamed in remembrance of the last time he watched a similar scuffle in the branches between the foundry and archery grounds in Thranduil's realm. 

"BY THE VALAR!" he yelled as he sprinted to the tree. 

Merionè turned his head to Bratherond, hoping he could offer an explanation, when the same glimmer caught his eye.  His eyes widened and he cursed furiously in elvish. A moment later, Bratherond too spotted the glimmer – which emanated from an intricately weaved, gigantic spiderweb, perched between two trees not far behind the one the princes had climbed into. 

"LEGOLAS! CIÈDRON! WHERE IS IT!?"  Aragorn shouted as he took out his bow and aimed from one spot to another, struggling to locate his target.  Bratherond and Merionè were instantly at his side, feverishly aiming their own bows as well, though even their elven eyes could not find anything. 

The three aimlessly pointed their arrows and carefully scanned the thick, black network of branches for the princes, but to no avail. The tree now remained as still as petrified wood – not a twig trembled. Though the elves and ranger could not make out the depths of its branches, there appeared to be no sign whatsoever of Legolas and Cièdron. 

"I'm going up there," Bratherond declared as he put away his bow. 

Remembering Legolas' and Cièdron's fight in the trees his first night in Mirkwood, Aragorn turned and peered into the branches of the neighboring oaks while Bratherond climbed into the first one. Just as he guessed, one of the nearby trees suddenly began to shake violently. 

"They are over there!" he shouted as he rushed to the trembling tree.

Merionè proved even quicker than Aragorn in drawing his bow and aiming at the new set of jumbled, intertwined branches. This time, his elven eyes caught a target and his bow sang as he released an arrow, immediately followed by another. 

The quaking stopped and again, the tree was still. Hesitatingly, Merionè lowered his bow and he and Aragorn held their breath as they worriedly searched between the branches. 

The woods suddenly fell silent – too silent. Aragorn could feel his heart pound against his chest as he desperately prayed for Legolas and Cièdron to hop down safely from the tree, either bickering with each other or joking, singing or teasing…anything, just so long as they climbed down! _Where in Middle Earth are they? What if one is injured? What if they are both injured? Or worse…_

_No! They are fine! They have to be fine! _Aragorn gritted his teeth and paced around the base of the tree never lowering his head as he peered into layer upon layer of thick, black leaves.  His ears heard every twitch, scuttle and crackle that reverberated throughout the woods, but he only wished to hear one sound now – the melodious voices of Legolas and Cièdron.

"LEGOLAS! CIÈDRON!" the ranger called despairingly. Merionè stood frightfully still, barely even breathing as several long moments passed and still there was no sign of the princes. 

Finally, just as Aragorn decided he would go up into the trees himself, one last forceful shudder passed through the quiet oak and a giant spider tumbled to the ground. Two of Merionè's arrows pierced its side and an ivory dagger lay embedded in its belly. A second later another spider fell, its own belly gouged with another bloody ivory dagger. 

Aragorn and Merionè simultaneously gaped at the spiders and snapped their heads back up at the branches, watching and waiting for two elves to follow.

"Looking for something, my friends?" a tired voice taunted from behind them. 

"I believe it may be us they are searching for," another strained voice answered. 

Aragorn and Merionè whipped around and with unimaginable relief stared at Legolas and Cièdron, both bloodied and panting for breath, but nonetheless alive and standing. A moment later, Bratherond dropped out of the branches behind them. 

"Hiding in the trees here apparently is not the safest way to escape the beasts that scour the forest floor…" Cièdron attempted a grin, but could only manage a pained, lopsided grimace.  Legolas grabbed his brother's arm to steady him as Merionè, Bratherond and Aragorn hurried to their sides. 

Aragorn's eyes hastily scanned the two elves.  Without a doubt, Cièdron appeared the worst of the two, for his pale skin barely peaked through the dried blood that covered his face and neck and matted his hair. In various places, his clothing was ripped revealing scratches and wounds, though how serious any of them were was hard for even Aragorn to say, so mixed was the elf's own blood with that of the wargs. But as he attempted to walk forward, Cièdron's face contorted in pain and he stumbled as his left leg gave way. Were it not for Legolas at his side, the elf would have surely collapsed.  Aragorn caught his breath and swiftly fell to his knees to study the prince's leg.

Bratherond muttered a few curses and bent down next to Aragorn.  A deep gash stretched from above Cièdron's knee to the top of his calf. "Was this from the spider, Cièdron?" Aragorn demanded. 

Cièdron chuckled darkly, "It is difficult for me to tell which ones are from the wargs and which are from the spiders I'm afraid!" 

Aragorn pursed his lips and attempted to wipe the wound with a ripped piece of his tunic. "We must pay close attention to all of them then." 

Bratherond suspiciously studied the surrounding trees and turned his attention back to Cièdron's leg. "We must not tarry. We must leave here now and set up a camp with a fire." 

"Some of these wounds may be serious, Bratherond. They must be treated immediately." Aragorn answered firmly.

"They are elves! They can wait a few minutes as we move away from this cursed spot!" Bratherond seethed. 

"All spots here are cursed Bratherond!" Aragorn angrily returned. 

Suddenly, Cièdron pulled away his leg and gazed intently at Aragorn. "Bratherond is right Aragorn. We cannot stay here. Our wounds can wait." 

Legolas turned to his brother with a mixture of surprise and worry. "Cièdron, are you sure…"

"Yes, Legolas I am sure!" Cièdron snapped, though his brusque reply was due to the pain he was fighting to conceal, not to any real annoyance with his brother.

Aragorn sighed and stood up. "Fine, we will move on then." 

"I believe it will be much easier with these though, don't you think?" a voice suddenly chirped, followed by a chorus of snorts and neighs.  Gandalf studied the group from his mount, his gaze lingering particularly on Cièdron and Legolas.  

"Will you be able to ride?" the wizard carefully asked the two. 

"Of course!" they spat out simultaneously, sounding very insulted that the wizard could even think otherwise.

Gandalf eyed them doubtfully, but conceded, "Very well. We will not go far, but it would be wise to put some distance between ourselves and this part of the wood. I care not to dwell any longer in this graveyard." 

With Legolas' help, Cièdron hopped to his horse and, not without a bit of struggle, mounted it. After he was seated he suddenly grasped his left side and quietly clenched his teeth in pain. Unfortunately, Legolas and the others did not notice this as they mounted their own horses.

Aragorn noted grimly that Legolas did not exactly look too much better than Cièdron. He could walk at least, but not without a faint swoon and there was no shortage of blood staining his clothes as well though again, he could not tell whether the blood was elven or not.  The others looked positively hale in comparison, though they all sported their shares of bruises and cuts. Bratherond had one nasty gash on his left arm that Aragorn did not particularly look forward to treating. As for himself, his biggest concern was a few badly bruised ribs from his fall. 

But he noticed a shadow pass over Merionè's features as he mounted his horse and he wondered if perhaps the elf was hiding an injury.

"If you are injured Merionè…" Aragorn started quietly as he rode up next to the elf.

"Nay Aragorn, I am not injured." Merionè's voice barely reached above a whisper and he avoided Aragorn's eyes as he spoke, concentrating instead on the horse's mane as he pressed forward.  _It is my fault, this battle. Why could I not warn them sooner? I saw those eyes move forward before they attacked. Why did I not scream sooner?_

Aragorn did not doubt the sincerity of Merionè's answer and so he did not press him further. Instead he just nodded and looked away, knowing the elf would not reveal his true troubles. 

They had ridden for barely a half hour before Gandalf decided they had come upon a suitable area to rest for the night. Barely able to walk, Cièdron stumbled to a large, moss covered rock to lean against as he sat on the ground. Legolas followed and sat just behind his brother on top of the rock. Using water from one of his canteens, Legolas wetted a scrap of cloth from his tunic and proceeded to clean his brother's face and neck.

"Next time you fall off your horse, try to fall into a clean stream," Legolas murmured as he gently scrubbed the grime and blood from his brother's forehead and cheek.

"Next time you kill a warg, try to make the blood spurt in your direction," Cièdron returned. He winced slightly as Legolas attempted to run his fingers through his matted hair.

Legolas noticed the wince and frowned as he tried to detangle the hair a little more gently. "Am I hurting you Cièdron?" 

"Nay, I am fine."

Legolas' frown deepened as he pulled aside all of Cièdron's hair so that he could clean the elf's neck. "You have been saying that to me ever since you first stood after that warg toppled you. I do not believe you."

"All right then, it does hurt a little when someone pulls on my hair, but I understand you are not doing that purposely," Cièdron responded tersely, refusing to reveal his real pains. The elf's voice was weak and breathless as he spoke and he struggled to control its tremor.

Legolas sighed and rubbed Cièdron's shoulders before returning to his hair. Otherwise, he did not respond, but looked anxiously towards Aragorn who had gathered some plants and was beginning to heat them over a small fire. Bratherond busied himself cleansing and bandaging his own wound ('_I need no help - I have cleaned more wounds than have been ravaged on all the elves of Mirkwood by the hounds of Sauron! _' Aragorn did not argue with this, despite the faulty logic.)  After muttering something under his breath about Bratherond and the hounds of Sauron, Gandalf hastily scanned Merionè for wounds and then helped the elf to clean and bandage them.

When the herbs were all placed in the pot, Aragorn kneeled next to Legolas and Cièdron so that he could tend to the gash on Cièdron's leg.  The ranger gingerly peeled away the ripped clothing from the wound and proceeded to dab at it with a scrap of wet cloth. Cièdron hissed and twitched uncomfortably despite Aragorn's best efforts to assuage the pain.

"For pity's sake, hold still you impossible oaf," Legolas mumbled as Cièdron reeled from Aragorn's touch. But his voice was not at all admonishing and he squeezed Cièdron's shoulder gently as he said this. 

"You're next," was the only response Cièdron could muster through his clenched teeth.

"I'm going to put some medicine on this now… it may hurt a bit…" Aragorn warned as he got up and walked over to the fire to retrieve his pot which had heated to a soft simmer. 

"Ah, well, what's a little more pain when…" Cièdron choked and gasped on the final part of his sentence as his body suddenly jerked violently.

"Cièdron!" Legolas' eyes widened in fear and he grabbed his brother around the shoulders. "Cièdron! Are you ok? Cièdron, speak to me, are you ok!?"

When he remained doubled over in pain, unable to answer, Legolas jumped off his rock and bent over Cièdron, gently lifting his brother's face between his hands.  Legolas caught his breath when he felt how clammy and soaked it had suddenly become. 

And white. _Nay, not even white- it is grey! _Legolas' fear quickly escalated into panic and his voice trembled. "Cièdron! Cièdron, you must speak to me! Cièdron!"  But all Cièdron could do was gasp desperately for air as he clenched his side and squeezed his eyes shut. Legolas grabbed his shoulders and frantically tried to subdue him. Never had the elf felt so helpless!

"Aragorn! Aragorn, he is not well! There is something wrong!" 

Remembering his own spider wound, Legolas immediately focused on Cièdron's leg. "Venom! It must be venom! We need to retract the venom!" 

Suddenly, Cièdron relaxed slightly and between gasps, he hissed inaudibly, "Nay! I think it is the other…"

Aragorn swiftly bent down next to the elf and hastily felt his cheeks and pulse. "Nay Legolas, it is not venom…" Aragorn's eyes scanned Cièdron's body, and he ran his hands over the elf's sides, feeling the blood soaked tunic for something he perhaps missed as he focused so heavily on the leg wound. 

Aragorn caught his breath as he gently felt Cièdron's left side. The blood covering the elf's clothes had been dry, but underneath his arm, a warm sticky substance soaked through the dried blood.  When Aragorn studied it more closely, he noted a small rip and that the warm wetness moistened a rather large area of the elf's already stained tunic. 

"Quick! Someone bring me some cloth! A cape, a blanket, anything!" Aragorn yelled as he ripped open the tunic to reveal a gaping wound that still bled steadily and profusely. 

Legolas staggered when he saw the wound.  _Ai! You fool! How could you allow him to hide that! How could you miss that! _ Suddenly the world around him lurched and the panicked voices of Aragorn, Merionè, Bratherond and Gandalf faded until they meant absolutely nothing to him. He tried to overcome the weights that held down his feet, to move, to say something, but his mouth became so dry not a word could escape and his limbs so heavy he had not the strength to move them.  In the flickering orange glow, Legolas caught fleeting glimpses of his brother, his face twisted in pain, and the calm determination of Aragorn. 

Gandalf, Bratherond and Merionè all scurried around Cièdron bringing Aragorn water, cloth, herbs and whatever else the ranger demanded as he zealously cleansed the wound and fought to halt the bleeding. Cièdron continued to gasp and hiss as Aragorn worked, but gradually his body slackened and his breaths became quieter. Amidst the chaos, Legolas found himself being pushed out of the way until he could not even see his brother through the bodies that surrounded him. He did not remember standing up, but he became aware of it when he noticed his knees felt like rubber beneath him. 

Several long, dazed minutes passed before the chaos died down slightly and Merionè and Bratherond backed away leaving Aragorn, Gandalf and Cièdron fully within Legolas' view.  As he walked by, Merionè laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder.

"Do not worry, young Thranduillion, I believe he will be ok," Merionè assured gently, his voice full of kindness and concern for the elf.

Bratherond gave Legolas a grim look, but nodded gruffly in concurrence with Merionè.  

The weights on Legolas' legs were suddenly lifted and the elf bolted to Cièdron's side, gasping when he saw that he now lay unconscious, his head cradled in Gandalf's lap. Aragorn sat on his knees next to Gandalf, gently wiping the wet, blond tendrils from Cièdron's pallid face and then moved back to his leg to finish cleaning and wrapping it as well. Cièdron's tunic had been stripped off and in its place were layers of cloths tied tightly around his chest. A blanket had been draped around his shoulders and Gandalf carefully wrapped the elf in it, covering the multiple bruises and cuts that marred his stomach and chest. 

Legolas gently laid a hand on Cièdron's cheek. His bright eyes shone with fear and worry, but he remained stoically quiet, afraid of what might happen if he tried to speak.

Gandalf sighed and stroked Cièdron's hair as he gazed sadly at Legolas. 

"He will be fine Legolas."

The wizard had little doubt Cièdron would recover, but the pain and worry he saw etched in Legolas' eyes still tugged at his heart, which was already strained by watching the physical pain that claimed Cièdron.  As he glanced at Cièdron's ashen, bruised face, and then the grieved, blood stained face of Legolas, a part of him even wondered if perhaps he had made a terrible mistake in bringing them along.  

_Bratherond is right. Neither of them knows what they have gotten themselves into._ Aye, they had grown up with the darkness, had lived through the death of their brothers and the departure of their mother and other siblings, they had fought spiders and heard the dark tales of their father's warriors and scouts… It was not that they did not know about suffering and pain and loss. They knew all too well how shadowed the world had become for they lived in the heart of it. 

But they had never felt it and experienced it so directly.  Even when their brothers died, they were still very young for elves and neither actually witnessed the pain and suffering that Maegren and Feáner endured as their sister did.  Despite the growing shadow, Thranduil had provided his two youngest with as much safety and normalcy as he could possibly muster. The king had always been determined to keep the shadow from claiming Legolas' and Cièdron's spirits, and indeed the realm of the wood elves had remained relatively free of the evil that pervaded the rest of the forest, even if that realm did grow smaller every year. 

_And now I have taken them from that realm. Ai! What have I done? I saw something in Legolas and I assumed it was my duty to take advantage of that. But did I even consider that Cièdron would not allow his brother to go alone? Did I consider the pain this would cause Thranduil and Cièdron? The pain this would cause Legolas? And I, who told Thranduil that it is often too soon that young ones must face the darkness of this world,__ have taken away his own children and plunged them into darkness. Ai, in what state will I return them to him? What have I done?_

Gandalf sighed again and continued to stroke Cièdron's hair as Legolas lightly grabbed his brother's hand and began to sing softly to him in elvish.  And then as Gandalf watched the two elves, he remembered how they fought. Aye, the wizard had seen their splendid fighting against the wargs. He saw how they cleverly worked together, and the shrewd, nimble skills they displayed. He saw how Legolas did not think twice about diving off of his horse to save Cièdron.  And he saw now the depths of his heart as Legolas sang to and comforted his brother, who could neither hear his song nor feel his hand. These were not feeble, fragile cowards, willing to shirk their duties in favor of their own comfort and security - they were the sons of Thranduil, grandsons of Oropher.  _Alas that they must see darkness. But if the blood of Thranduil will not fight it then who will?_

Aragorn turned his attention from Cièdron to Legolas. With a frown he noted the bruises and cuts that covered his arms and face. He hated to tear Legolas away from Cièdron, but what if one of his wounds was serious? Aragorn would not make the same mistake of missing such a wound twice.

"Mellonin, I must check your wounds now," Aragorn said gently.

Legolas stopped his singing and gazed up at Aragorn as if he just noticed the human was even there. "Nay Aragorn, my wounds need no attending to."

Gandalf shifted and peered closely at Legolas. "Let him check them Legolas. You can stay right here as he does it and I promise you I will not leave Cièdron." 

Legolas pursed his lips defiantly, but even he could not ignore the sharp pain in his arm and on his back. With one last squeeze of Cièdron's hand he nodded and moved aside.

Aragorn hastened to Legolas' side, slightly worried that the elf had not offered more of a fight. After all, he had witnessed Legolas' intransigence before when it came to his own well being.  

Without a word, Aragorn rolled up Legolas' sleeves, noting his wince as he did so, and patiently and diligently cleaned and covered his wounds.  The ranger dismally noted that faint traces of the elf's earlier wound still remained on his arm, though fresh wounds now dwarfed the previous one. He then moved on to Legolas' legs and his back where after pushing aside the elf's hair he found the two small, but deep wounds from the warg that had landed on top of him. As he cleaned these Legolas twitched and hissed from the stinging pain.

"Try to hold still, mellonin," Aragorn quietly ordered. "I am sorry if I hurt you."

"It is the memory of how I got them that pains me," Legolas murmured. Shuddering slightly as he remembered how he thought he would die and then how he thought Cièdron would die underneath him as he lay there, not only powerless to stop the warg, but impeding Cièdron from being able to protect himself.  _It would have been my fault if he died. And it would have been my fault if he died this time. How could I have not seen that wound?_

Aragorn frowned, but did not know what he could say to ease the elf's anguish so he continued quietly with his work. When he was done, he squatted in front of Legolas and squeezed his shoulder. 

"How do you feel Legolas?"

"I am sore, Aragorn, but I am well. Do not worry about me," Legolas answered honestly. Aragorn nodded and placed his hand on the elf's cheek before reaching into his pack.

"You had forgotten this, Legolas," Aragorn said as he pulled out the elf's ivory knife. 

Legolas' eyes widened and he looked gratefully at the ranger as he took the knife and tenderly grasped its handle. 

"Thank you Aragorn." Legolas breathed. He held Aragorn's gaze for a moment and then glimpsed at his brother who appeared to be sleeping peacefully, though his eyes were still closed. 

"There is no need to thank me, Legolas. You should rest."

"Aye…" Legolas seemed not to hear Aragorn as he returned to Cièdron's side and again laid his hand upon his brother's.  Aragorn joined him and carefully returned Cièdron's knife to its sheath. 

Gandalf watched the two of them and then turned to Aragorn. "You will rest fully tonight Aragorn. I will stay up and keep watch." 

"Gandalf! Do not be ridiculous! You cannot…."

"Aragorn, I order you to sleep!" Gandalf sternly interrupted. He then turned to Merionè and Bratherond. "I want you two to sleep fully tonight as well."

Bratherond and Merionè stared at the wizard incredulously. "Mithrandir! That is absurd, we could take some watches!" Merionè insisted.

"I can go without sleep longer than you would think, Master Elves. As I am the least injured, I will take over the watches tonight so you could heal fully. I want my warriors to be intact with the new dawn." 

Merionè gaped at Gandalf. "Mithrandir, I too am not that injured…" Merionè trailed off when the wizard's intense gaze fell on him. 

"I want you to sleep Merionè," Gandalf firmly insisted. The wizard did not know what exactly it was that plagued Merionè, though he suspected it had something to do with the combination of his sea-longing and whatever it was he experienced with his warriors, both of which would be exacerbated if he did not rest. 

"If I am tired, I will wake one of you, I promise. But as I am certain I will not sleep anyway, I insist that you heed my orders tonight. Tomorrow I will sleep fully." 

"But to leave you awake alone for the entire night…" Bratherond began.

"I do not believe I will be alone, Bratherond," Gandalf sighed as his gaze fell upon Legolas who once again began to sing softly to his brother, unaware of the argument that was taking place around him. 

Bratherond followed Gandalf's gaze and released his own sigh. Though he wanted to order Legolas to sleep and the wizard to split the watch with him tonight, even Bratherond knew both arguments would be futile. _I will just let him think I am asleep…_

Aragorn reluctantly reclined against a tree, but still remained at Cièdron's and Legolas' side. He watched as Gandalf laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder. The same sorrowful look that flooded the wizard's eyes when they first arrived in Mirkwood and watched Legolas tensely hold his bow as he led them through the bleak forest to the palace, returned as he watched Legolas tend to his brother. 

A dry breeze rustled the leaves and the distant howling of wolves accompanied the crackling embers and Legolas' soft song.  Again, Aragorn worriedly noticed the parchedness of the wood as his troubled mind slipped under the spell of much needed sleep. __

**TBC……**

Wow! I never expected so many… well… threats! He just fell off his horse that's all! *cowers away from angry reviewers…*  

**Abomination:** Thank you! For now, I'll certainly try to write quickly, but when classes start….

**Alexa**: Congrats on the license! I always like the little things also in stories and I do try to include as much of that as possible. Sea longing always breaks my heart when I read about it – if I was Aragorn, I'd run into a tree and close my ears (really I don't know what my problem is! I have to actually tell myself elves are not real so there's no need to get depressed about them leaving!)

**Artemisa**: Thank you for the review! I'm glad you're enjoying it!

**Dot:** A minx am I?? Well.. ok I won't argue. I simply couldn't resist that ending.  Yeah, Merionè's song was mine. I'm glad you liked it. : )  And you're right… Bratherond really isn't such a bad guy… He's just not that great with words…

**Ecri**: Hi! Thank you! I read an article somewhere about Legolas that actually put his age as young as 500-900 or so and part of it pointed out his playfulness in Helm's Deep. It was a lot of speculation of course, but I do tend to agree that Legolas was probably pretty young as far as elves go. At one point it mentioned how youthful Legolas' reactions were to all the sights on their journey and his curiosity when he wanted to turn back to Fangorn and Gandalf had to stop him.  I think it also said how he may have represented the younger generation of elves that grew up during the fading of their race & the rise of men, an idea which I liked a lot… 

**Elfling**: Thank you! I got your email and I do appreciate it! I think I would have just given up if my computer freaked. See! Legolas saved him! My little elf boy would not just sit and stare and scream. 

**Gwyn**: Ah, see! You jumped ahead and assumed the worst... He's still here, ivory knife and all… 

**Jenny:** Hehe, yes that did nearly give me a coronary. Thank you for the review!! And thank you for explaining what bo is – I think I would have been very confused (and perhaps even insulted! '_what you mean my story smells_?!?!) otherwise ;) 

**LittleLoopy**:  He's only a little hurt! Well.. ok, so maybe more than a little. But he's an elf! I can beat him up pretty good and he'll still heal… 

**LOTRFaith**: Hehe, actually I wouldn't say Bratherond borders on arrogance – I'd say it is arrogance. But he really isn't so bad…  

**Maranwe:** That's allright, I mix up names all the time. The Silmarillion (which I loved, don't get me wrong) was something of a hell for me because I kept having to go back and look up all the different names that began with F. Feanor, Fingolfin, Finarfin, Fingod, Finrod… oy… Yes, unfortunately for the boys, things do get worse from now on. That's the one reviewer prediction I can confirm. 

**Mer**: See! Not Dead! I agree, I think it would have been very hard on Legolas this early in the mission (and hard on me!). 

**Nightshade**: Thank you for the review! I'm glad you liked it!

**RainyDayz:**  See! He's ok! Well… He's not dead… ah, did you really think I could kill him off so soon (and I'm not saying I will…or won't…) But anyway, I like him a lot also – I couldn't boot him that easily.  

**Shaan Lien**: I actually think I would like very much to keep writing for that entire period…don't think I will with this story though. Glad you're satisfied with the length of the chapters- I'm always afraid they might be too long, but I never know when to end! 

**Sirithiriel:** Thank you! That's ok if you didn't review every chapter! I appreciate this one! 

**Tainted Fortune**: Whoa! Another reviewer who did a review for every chapter in one day! Thank you! Wow! Yes, Cièdron is all mine – didn't plan on making him, but he sort of just kind of… developed. Whats with Merionè? Very good question. ;)  My though you are anxious to see the axe drop on someone aren't you? Hehe, that's ok, I understand – I'm a fan of angst as well.  Well, we'll see. Never know what's going to happen with those servants of Sauron and all. Oh and as for your elvish name… Well let's see…according to this site, it is…. *quickly checks the site* oh geez…. Lúthien… Yes, see, that is why I must advise against it in stories! I had a servant named Maglor before I read the Silmarillion and realized that really was not a name for a servant! Well anyway, it still can be kind of fun… the site is - 

**Thundera Tiger:  **Thank you once again! I actually did not write those comments by Bratherond and Gandalf intentionally (ah, I know, I should lie and claim I did, but I can't). But I'm so glad you pointed that out! I swear I sometimes feel the characters just write themselves. A long time ago, this was going to be just a Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas fic, but then all these other guys came pounding on the door and crashed my story! 

**Viktoreja Rose**: Oh my goodness! Eek… didn't expect that response ;) well hopefully you're a little less angry with me now…

**WeasleyTwins**: Ah, well he lived… I'm sorry if I disappointed you, but you never know what will happen – they haven't even made it to Dol Guldur yet!


	12. Bratherond's Warriors

Disclaimer: Not even lack of electricity can warp the world enough to make these characters mine.

**Chapter 12 **

**Bratherond's**** Warriors**

Another inky night shrouded the ruined trees of Mirkwood. A small fire hissed and ruptured the black veil with its misty, flickering glow.  Gandalf distractedly stroked Cièdron's hair as the elf lay asleep in his lap. Legolas continued to hum or sing softly as he held on to Cièdron's hand and Aragorn, after drifting in and out of sleep, languorously watched the two, allowing Legolas' songs to entrance his tired mind. 

Throughout the night, the ranger intermittently checked Cièdron's pulse and breathing and gently peeked at the wound to make sure it had begun to heal. Legolas observed Aragorn as he worked with an almost child-like curiosity combined with a profound concern for his brother. When he finished, Legolas would return to his song and Aragorn would once again fall under its enchantment. 

Thus, the sudden silence when Legolas ceased startled Aragorn since he had not even risen to check up on Cièdron.  When Aragorn looked up, he met the elf's intense gaze, the blue of his eyes glittering in the wavering flames of the fire. 

"Aragorn, thank you," Legolas said softly.

"I already told you Legolas, there is no need to thank me."

"No, Aragorn, you must accept my gratitude for I know not what else I could offer…. I did not see it Aragorn. I was with him the entire time, and yet I did not see it. Had it not been for you…" Legolas trailed off as he gazed back down at Cièdron. Though his breathing had steadied, his eyes remained tightly shut. Legolas sighed and lightly brushed his cheek. "You stubborn fool," he muttered to Cièdron. 

"And had it not been for you, that first warg would have killed him. Legolas, do not blame yourself – I did not see that wound either." The ranger's voice was adamant and unyielding. He simply would not allow the elf to start feeling guilt so early! Aragorn was no stranger to guilt's powerful noose and he knew all too well how quickly it could strangle its victims. 

"Legolas listen to me. Sauron feeds on guilt – he feeds on guilt, sorrow, despair, and anger. You cannot allow your mind to be clouded by these feelings, especially when there is naught to feel guilty about in the first place! Cièdron's wound was not your fault mellonin and there is no point to feeling guilty about what _might have happened. He is alive, and he will soon be well, and he will not blame you, so why should you blame yourself? Do not let yourself become so vulnerable when the Valar have allowed Cièdron to live." Aragorn spoke softly placing his hand on the elf's shoulder and squeezing it to emphasize his support._

Legolas did not answer and continued to gently graze his brother's cheek. He knew Aragorn was right, yet he could not help the darkness that crept into his mind, miring the flare of hope and optimism that had always lit his soul. Gandalf too considered the ranger's words and nodded thoughtfully in agreement. 

"Aye, you are correct Aragorn. Sauron, and before him, Morgoth, increased their power through lies and deceit that caused elves and men to fall victim to falsehoods that darkened their minds with despair and anger. It is his talent for twisting minds that has allowed him to grow so strong, and no mind is as easily twisted as that of one who is already weakened by their own demons." The wizard did not say this to Aragorn or Legolas specifically, but rather to himself.  The words rolled off his tongue as the thoughts passed through his head. Aragorn and Legolas both sensed the wizard was once again thinking of something bigger, something beyond the two of them, but did not press him further. 

A moment later, Gandalf was brought back from the high world of Istari wisdom to the realm of mere elves and humans. "I do hope he wakes by morning. We must not remain in one place for too long.  I fear where the hounds of Sauron roam, Orcs will not be far behind."

"Aye, I have been listening to their horns all night," Legolas whispered.

Gandalf and Aragorn jolted at this statement. "Legolas, by the Valar! Why did you not say anything?!" the wizard demanded.

Legolas paused calmly before he looked up at the wizard and answered, "They are not a threat to us yet… I suspect they are about seven leagues away, though they are south which is where we head anyway. Do not worry Mithrandir! If you feared our Orc friends would have trouble finding us and we would miss out on another lovely melee, you are quite wrong! For we will soon find them – we may as well prepare a greeting party now!"

Gandalf furrowed his brows as he considered the dire words of the elf. "Legolas, from now on tell me everything your elven eyes see and your ears hear, whether the danger is near or not. Though I do agree, there is little we could do to avoid walking straight into another attack – unless of course we run home and tell Thranduil a pack of wargs scared us off and we turned back on our missions!"

"Mithrandir, if I tell you everything I see and hear as we travel through these woods, my tongue would fall off from weariness! I hear Orcs, I hear the howls of wargs, the skittering of spiders, the wails of the trees, the dying moans of the wind… Ai, if I could I would lend you my senses so that I could have a moment's respite," Legolas sighed. 

"Nay, Legolas you would find no respite, for your soul would tremor from the evil surrounding us, yet you would not be able to see or hear from where the evil comes," Aragorn replied. Under different circumstances, he would tease the elf for wishing to unburden himself of his superior senses, but now he had not the heart or the desire. Besides, he sympathized with Legolas for even his mere human senses would not let his mind rest as they screamed warnings whichever way they turned. 

"Yes well, would you expect anything less as we draw nearer to Dol Guldur? I told you the odds against us would grow worse as we move south. Now I will hear no more of this whining about your overloaded senses. Remember why we are here! Do not let the Enemy extinguish your hope so soon!" Gandalf looked sharply at Legolas, but the elf did not offer any response or playful assurance that he still retained hope. _Ai, Legolas! Do not lose your hope so easily! If even you cannot keep it, then we are all doomed! _

When finally the oily blackness of night began to dissipate and a honey colored mist lightened the wood, Merionè stirred and Bratherond was revealed to never have been asleep in the first place as he sat in the shadow, quietly sharpening his weapons. Legolas started when even Cièdron began to shift slightly and show signs of coming to. 

"Cièdron! Cièdron can you hear me! Cièdron, you are well, Aragorn healed you! Cièdron?!"

Cièdron groaned and squeezed his eyes tighter in response. Legolas immediately took this as a sign that the elf wished to wake, but just needed some 'assistance.'

"Cièdron, you fool! How late do you plan on sleeping!? Ada will not be pleased to see you are nodding off on the job like this! A warrior you are indeed. I have seen toddlers that are more fearsome than you, sleeping beauty! To think a brother of mine could be such a lazy sloth…"

Aragorn smirked as he began to prepare a breakfast for the travelers. Gandalf's eyes sparkled with relief and he squeezed and massaged Cièdron's shoulder with a little more pressure. When Cièdron became still again though, Legolas sighed dejectedly and fell back on his heels.

"He will wake when he is ready to Legolas," the wizard assured the elf.

Legolas frowned and again leaned over Cièdron, "He has been out for quite a long time though, don't you think Mithrandir?"

"Legolas, it is no small thing to lose so much blood…"

"But he is an elf…"

"Elves are not invincible, Legolas…"

"Aye, but he should have healed don't you think?"

"He is healing…"

As Cièdron slipped in and out of consciousness, he heard bits and pieces of this conversation though it sounded to him like it came from the far side of a narrow tunnel. 

"Perhaps he is just afraid to get back on his own horse and so he feigns being unconscious so he could ride under my protection." 

"Legolas, that is hardly fair of you…"

If anything could bring back Cièdron from the depths of unconsciousness, it was the threat that he would have to share a horse with his brother. Thus the elf's eyes weakly fluttered opened, revealing slightly clouded over, blue orbs. As he struggled to focus his vision, he began to speak in a weak, raspy voice,

"I…will…"

"Cièdron!"

Legolas perked up and leaned in closer to Cièdron so he could make out whatever it was the elf was trying to say. Aragorn and Gandalf also hurried to his side and peered at him expectantly. Cièdron shut his eyes again for a moment, and quickly reopened them before breathlessly finishing his sentence.  

"ride my own…horse." 

Legolas grinned widely and laughed. "Cièdron! So you have decided to join us!"

Gandalf too leaned over as he asked, "Welcome back! Tell me how do you feel?"

"Does your side bother you much, Cièdron? And your leg?" Aragorn added as he leaned over as well. 

Bratherond and Merionè could not resist being a part of the elf's wakening party either and soon their faces joined Aragorn, Legolas and Gandalf in peering closely at Cièdron. 

"Cièdron, I do not think you will be able to ride…" Merionè said worriedly.

"Aye you must rest first! Do not be so foolish!" Bratherond continued gruffly. 

"But I am afraid we will have to move on…"

"I will ride with you, not Legolas, he is too injured himself…"

"I am not too injured!"

"Cièdron, please tell us how you feel."

The poor elf furrowed his brows in confusion at the sudden appearance of five concerned, blurry, slightly vacillating faces above him and the barrage of questions, orders, and unnecessary arguments that were thrown at him. Eventually he could not even make out who was saying what as their voices blended together in a cacophonous medley of irksome concerns and questions. Deciding he really did not feel like dealing with this band of fools (as he now thought of them – did they really think this is what he wanted to wake up to?), he closed his eyes and tried his best to pretend to be unconscious again. _But if they dare try to put me on a horse with Legolas…___

The elves, ranger and wizard fell quiet and blinked with surprise and confusion. Suddenly, Gandalf's head snapped up and he scolded the rest of them, waving his staff as he did so. 

"Fools of elves! Do you really think anyone would want to wake up to your squawking? Shoo! Shoo!"

Merionè and Bratherond staggered slightly, but backed away just as the wizard ordered. Legolas stubbornly remained, but leaned out of Cièdron's view, as did Aragorn who guiltily looked towards the ground.  With a *hmph* Gandalf returned his attention to Cièdron. 

"Now Cièdron, take your time… Do not let these ninnies keep you from the conscious world, though I perfectly understand how tempting that must be…" he murmured gently. 

With an inward, sigh Cièdron decided to risk opening his eyes again. This time, much to his relief, all he saw was the smiling, genial face of Gandalf who did not say a word as the elf slowly registered where he was. 

"Mithrandir…I…hurt…" Cièdron grimaced as he tried to raise himself and at the insipid words that he could not control tumbling off of his tongue. 

"Well that is no surprise at all, my young elf! Perhaps you would like some water? Lembas?" Gandalf responded softly. 

Cièdron hissed from the pain of attempting to move and reclined again in Gandalf's lap. "Water," he muttered despondently.

A second later, Aragorn pressed a canteen to the elf's lips and he drank it gratefully before closing his eyes again and leaning back. A few moments later, he opened them and appeared at least slightly less befuddled.

"How do you feel Cièdron?" Aragorn asked carefully, afraid to overwhelm the elf once again.

"Like a pack of wargs attacked me," Cièdron frowned as his memories slowly came into light. 

"Well then, since that is exactly what happened, we should not be too concerned – at least he did not say 'like a Balrog ripped me apart and spit me back out!'" Gandalf chirped though Legolas did not appear too convinced as he offered Cièdron a piece of Lembas.

"You need not feed it to me, I will take it myself, Legolas," Cièdron said as he took the piece of elvish way-bread from his brother with a quivering hand.  

When he swallowed it and rested a few minutes longer, Gandalf shifted slightly.

"Cièdron, do you think you will be able to rise? I fear we must be moving on soon… You shall ride with me, for no matter what you claim, I do not believe you are ready to ride alone."

Cièdron frowned, but did not argue with the wizard. "Aye, Mithrandir, I can rise." 

Cièdron could stand, but only after several attempts at raising himself, during which he pushed off any offered help from Legolas and Aragorn and hissed, gasped and cursed under his breath. Finally, several minutes later when he was upright, leaning heavily on one wobbly leg and clenching his side in pain, he found he could only hold such a position if Legolas remained on his other side to support him. 

"See, I told you I did not need any help to stand," he breathed as he finally steadied himself.

"Aye, it is only the act of standing that you need my assistance in it seems," Legolas answered wryly. 

Unable to argue, Cièdron merely frowned and leaned heavily on Legolas as the rest prepared the horses for the continuation of their journey.  

"Cièdron! Over here!" Gandalf called. Legolas led Cièdron to Gandalf's horse which he stubbornly climbed and fumbled his way to the top of, refusing to be hoisted up by any of the others.  The rest then mounted their own steeds and they set off on their grim journey.

For the remainder of the day, the group proceeded grudgingly through the ever darkening wood. Cièdron fell in and out of consciousness and Gandalf often had to catch him as he slipped off the horse. 

"Now, now Cièdron, up you go, now is no time to go falling off this horse," the wizard mumbled as he grabbed tightly to the limp elf.

Legolas, despite his best efforts, could barely hide his own weariness and Aragorn continually examined the elf out of the corner of his eye as he rode next to him. The day passed slowly, and the slinking darkness and shadows escalated in the forest and worse, in their minds. None spoke and none made any pretenses of wanting to speak or to cheer up the mood.  The mirth had completely drained even from Legolas who now sulked silently as he glimpsed the unconscious Cièdron and fought against his own sore wounds.  Aragorn, when not checking up on Legolas, stared straight ahead, his gray eyes clouded over with fatigue though he neurotically glanced over his shoulder and to his side at every scuffle and twitch. Bratherond seemed the least affected of the group if only because he had been the dourest from the start. 

Gandalf sighed whenever he glanced at the others or whenever he felt Cièdron gasp or slip from his grip, but even the wizard knew not what to do to lighten the mood and he could feel his own heart darken with the impending doom.  _One cannot underestimate the power of Sauron to dim the hopes of even the most lighthearted souls.  Occasionally, he would ask the elves if they heard the Orcs, to which they would all impassively grumble 'yes.' Like pulling teeth, Gandalf would have to press them further to reveal what they knew about their whereabouts, and they would sullenly give a terse answer, assuring the wizard they were not near yet._

And then Gandalf noticed Merionè. He did not speak once when the wizard asked them about the Orcs, and he did not seem to even be paying attention to their path or the threatening sounds that surrounded them as the other elves were.  As they pressed further into the darkness and nearer to Dol Guldur, the elf passed further into shadow, his eyes growing blank and distant. 

The sun did not even begin to set when Gandalf finally decided to stop for the night, unable to deny anymore his own weariness. 

"We will stop here and rest for the night," he curtly broke the tense silence. It was a testament to everyone's weariness that not one of them, not even Bratherond protested stopping so early. Only Cièdron spoke up. 

"So soon? Do not stop because of me Mithrandir…" he feebly insisted. 

"We are all tired, Cièdron. It is not only for you that we stop, though it will do you well to rest some more," Gandalf answered. 

Cièdron chose a tree to recline against and Legolas sat next to him. The others perched themselves quietly against various trees and rocks and remained silent as they drank and ate their miniscule rations. 

Gandalf watched everyone as they slowly drifted off into their own dreams, with the exception of Merionè who was to take the first watch, followed by Bratherond and Aragorn.  Though Legolas struggled to remain awake as his brother fell into another deep sleep, he too soon drifted into elven reveries. The two leaned against each other and slept peacefully throughout the night, allowing Gandalf to relax slightly, knowing they were now healing. 

The next day went much the same as the day before, only just as if they had been walking deeper into a cave, the forest continued to grow darker and more stifling the farther south they went. Cièdron still rode with Gandalf, though he had healed spectacularly over the night and Gandalf had little doubt he would be fit to ride his own horse tomorrow. _Thank the Valar for the healing power of elves! _

Once again, they decided to stop before the sun set, under the pretext that Aragorn needed natural light in addition to the fire to check up on everyone's wounds.  But in their hearts they knew, it was the shadow that made them so weary and eager to halt their traveling. Since they first began, their momentum had faltered dramatically and their pace slackened as the evil of Sauron burdened their minds. 

In an effort to quell the shadow in his own mind, Aragorn took out his pipe, taking care that the smoke did not blow in the direction of any of the elves.  As he inhaled the smoke he lightly closed his eyes and tried to imagine Imladris, Arwen, Lord Elrond, even that beautiful day in Thranduil's realm when he watched Legolas and Alasse in the field. But his ever cautious senses did not permit Aragorn such pleasures, and the ranger immediately returned to the never ending task of listening, watching, and waiting for whatever doom they would inevitably encounter next.  

As everyone stared gloomily into the fire, Merionè shifted and turned towards Gandalf. "Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe we will be separating soon, Mithrandir," he said, breaking the dreary silence and slightly startling the others in the group.  No one spoke anymore unless it was absolutely necessary. Just the sound of a voice that was not quipping out a warning sounded strange to the travelers. 

Gandalf considered this for a moment and agreed. "Aye Merionè you are correct, I would say in another two or three days, it would be time for us to follow our separate paths."

"In that case, there is much I wish to tell you before you head East," Merionè addressed Aragorn and Legolas, again startling everyone. The elf had not exactly shown great enthusiasm for discussing the Rhun and the Avari in the past – in fact the very mention of it seemed to make him want to bury himself away like a turtle retreating into its shell.  But he showed no sign of such trepidation now and in a rare display of command and authority, he claimed Aragorn's and Legolas' full attention. Gandalf was especially surprised for he was beginning to believe they had perhaps lost Merionè to the shadow. 

"Legolas, Aragorn I want you to listen carefully, for this will be important to your success. I do not know much of the Avari, but I will tell you what I do know. The Avari are not just of one clan, but many – they are scattered throughout the Rhun in multiple small tribes. The one thing they seem to have in common is resentment for the elves of the West."

Gandalf cleared his throat and interrupted. "Aye, that is no surprise - remember, they are the ones who refused the summons of the Valar. They feared the Valar and many were easily duped by the lies of Morgoth." 

Merionè nodded, "Aye, and now Sauron. Their fear and resentment has only grown through the ages. I can assure you, they will not appreciate a Sindarin prince in their realm!  Thus, I believe it would be wise for you to try to blend in with the Avari, Legolas. Your greatest chance of discovering more about these dark elves and their threats to us is to pretend to be of the Avari yourself. Lone elves are not a rarity in that part of Middle Earth, so they will not be suspicious of you because of that. You will have trouble understanding them for they speak in a language similar to the Silvan tongue and their accents are strange. Yet few do know the Common Speech. So use that, but do not speak in the Sindarin tongue and speak softly and only if you must – otherwise they will not miss your accent."

Merionè then stood and walked over to Legolas. His eyes immediately fell to the prince's brooch. "This you cannot wear…" As he said this, Merionè carefully removed the brooch and placed it in his own pack. "And you should take these out as well," Merionè continued as he held up Legolas' braids.  

"They will recognize this as well as the style of Thranduil's warriors...I noticed the elves there preferred to tie back their hair." Legolas nodded and swiftly undid his braids, allowing his hair to fall in soft waves before tying it all back in a single long ponytail. 

Merionè then turned to Aragorn. "As for you ranger, I do not think I need to tell you the importance of hiding your own identity. You too would do well to pretend to be a lone human, wandering about the eastern wasteland. Do not reveal your connections to the Dunadain, and certainly not to Lord Elrond!"  

"You must also pretend to sympathize with Sauron from the start." As he said this, Merionè's eyes darkened and his voice became steely and low. "Do not try to play the hero, do not allow your pride to get the better of you, do not feel the need to defend anyone of the West.  As Thranduil said, you are not there to fight, you are there to learn…And most importantly, do not trust anything that they say."

Merionè stared intently at Legolas and Aragorn and he repeated in a voice full of foreboding, "_Whatever you do_, do not trust any of their promises, do not believe they will keep their word. They will not."

Aragorn furrowed his brows and leaned forward, his intense gaze studying Merionè carefully, "What do you mean Merionè? How do you know this?" 

Merionè looked sadly at the ranger. "Because if they did, I would not be here now." 

Merionè then fell silent. The weight of the conversation descended heavily upon the group.  Aragorn's eyes widened and he gaped for a second at Merionè.

"What did you promise them, Merionè?" he demanded.

"Myself, Aragorn, I told them they could have me instead…"

"That is all?! They would take one warrior instead of a dozen!?" 

"Well, they didn't, did they!" Merionè retorted. He sighed and continued. "It was a choice they presented to me – Aye, of course I thought it was rather strange myself that one could make up for a dozen, but of course I took it! Any captain who cared about his warriors would not have to think twice about offering himself to save them! Yet here I am…and they are still there…"

"This doesn't make sense… " Aragorn murmured. "Why would they make such an offer in the first place? And why would they then let you go? Why not take all of you?"

"To deliver the threat to Thranduil, it seems," Merionè answered.

Aragorn locked his gaze onto Merionè's.  He could not quite place what it was, but he suddenly knew something was not right.  Either Merionè was still leaving out parts of his story, or the elf had been deceived more than he realized. It frustrated him that he could know so certainly that they were somehow being toyed with, somehow falling into a trap and yet have no idea what that trap was or what he could do about it! Furthermore, the darkness continued to fog his mind and hinder his ability to make sense of anything. In a desperate attempt to test Merionè, to perhaps pressure him to reveal more (if there was in fact more to reveal), he mustered Lord Elrond's most forbidding gaze and then uttered in a low voice, "I fear we are walking straight into a trap." 

Aragorn thought perhaps Merionè would be caught off guard by this statement, and if he did know anything else, he would not be able to hide it. But though anyone would have trembled from the ranger's gaze, Merionè only started slightly. He kept his gaze steady as he spoke, "That is why you must take heed of my warnings and advice now. If you do not wish to be ensnared by these creatures, do not let them know who you are and do not trust them. There may be hope for my warriors yet and there may be answers to the questions of what we must do to prepare for this final battle against Sauron, but you will find naught if you make the same mistakes I did by not disguising who you are and trusting that these are beings honorable enough to keep their word!" 

Aragorn nodded slowly. _Ai, perhaps I am wrong. He is not hiding anything else. Alas, it is this darkness that makes me suspicious even of my own companions! _Yet still Aragorn could not shake the feeling that he was missing something. He sighed and glanced at Gandalf. The wizard had been listening and watching Merionè as intently as he did, and Aragorn felt somewhat relieved that he too appeared worried that something was amiss. _I will speak to him later of this_, Aragorn decided.

Merionè then swiftly turned to Legolas. 

 "Legolas! Let me see your weapons!" 

Hesitantly, Legolas drew out his knife and his bow and handed them to Merionè who studied the carvings on them. 

"It is as I suspected. You may as well carry a giant sign saying 'Thranduil's Son.' Here, take these instead."  He unsheathed his own knife and bow, grabbed his quiver and gave them to Legolas. Legolas examined them and noted curiously that not a single elvish carving decorated the weapons.

Merionè in turn eyed Legolas' knife with a slight frown. "Your father gave this to you?" he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Bratherond gazed intensely at the knife and murmured, "Aye, that is Feáner's knife."  

Legolas gaped at Bratherond in surprise, but before he could ask how the elf knew it was his brother's knife, Merionè once again interrupted his thoughts.

"Then I am not worthy of this…" He turned to Cièdron who had been watching and listening to the entire exchange. "You shall keep it Cièdron."

"But Merionè, what then will be your weapon?" Cièdron asked as he carefully took Legolas' knife.

Merionè laughed darkly and drew out a sword in one hand and another long dagger in the other. "Master Cièdron, do not worry about me not having enough weapons!" 

"Oh," Cièdron responded before turning to Legolas with a slight twinkle in his eye. "Some warriors we are indeed! We carry but a bow and a knife, while our companions are armed to the teeth!"

"Well at least you have two knives now Cièdron!" Legolas returned. "And a braid!"

Merionè sighed and smiled faintly. "You two do not need additional weapons. I saw you fight those wargs, and I am impressed. Why, I am even tempted to ask Thranduil permission for you to join my warriors in our missions when we return!"

Bratherond snorted, "A grand idea indeed, Merionè! Yes, let us see how much we could stretch Thranduil's heart! As if this alone was not enough! I would think after the ill fate of the other warriors under your command, you would think twice about asking the King for permission to have his sons join with you!"

All conversation halted and only the crackling of the fire breached the tense, menacing silence that ensued. Regardless of what they were doing, or where they were looking, all eyes turned to Merionè and Bratherond and not a person breathed as Merionè's livid glare burned Bratherond who staggered in its wake. Bratherond had not meant for that statement to be so insulting to the already crestfallen elf, and as soon as he said it, he wished desperately that the Valar could somehow allow him to turn back the hands of time and take back his words. 

"Merionè, I am sorry… that was foolish and unfair of me…" Bratherond stuttered as the flash in Merionè's eyes intensified with the elf's swelling fury. The others watched Bratherond in astonishment.  Not one of them could ever imagine the surly elf cowering before the more kindly Merionè! But in this shadow, all pretenses and facades became irrelevant, dripping off those who wore them like melting snow. 

"I do not believe you are one to speak Bratherond!!" Merionè hissed dangerously.

Again the wood fell silent and if the others were stunned to see Bratherond cower before, they were absolutely astonished to now see the elf's face turn a deathly shade of white and his eyes cloud over in fear. Even Merionè, when he saw this, realized what he had just said and immediately tried to take it back.

"Ai, Bratherond, I mean… That was not fair of me either…"

Cièdron however had been watching Bratherond not with astonishment, but with fury and irritation that he once again proved himself as tactless as a child. Hungry for some retribution, he eagerly wondered what Merionè had alluded to that made Bratherond recoil and blanch like a withering flower.  He certainly was not going to let this slip of the tongue pass so easily! 

"What do you mean!? What do you mean he is not one to speak!?" Cièdron demanded, his vindictive eyes darting from Merionè to Bratherond. 

Merionè now also grew pale as he stared at Cièdron. "Cièdron, forget it, forget I said anything…I did not mean… It was not his fault…" _Ai! It is the shadow in my mind that made me say that! What have I started? They will all be doomed because of me! _

"No! I want to know! We are always hearing about our flaws, about our weaknesses. I think it is about time Bratherond enlightens us on his own demons!" Cièdron began to stand, but was held down by Legolas. Though Legolas remained silent, he too glared at Bratherond and did not hide his own eagerness to hear what Bratherond had to say.

Gandalf shook his head despairingly and let out a long sigh, "We are giving into this darkness…" he mumbled. 

Aragorn agreed with Gandalf and watched the elves with growing anxiety. Though he did not know what it was that Merionè desperately wanted Bratherond to keep to himself, he knew it could only bode ill for the already strained relationships within the group. "Gandalf is right, we are playing right into Sauron's hands…"

"Well perhaps if Bratherond would come down to our level and admit to us his own faults, we could all be a little more at ease," Cièdron seethed. 

"It will not leave anyone at ease, Cièdron!" Merionè frantically pleaded.

Bratherond finally met Cièdron's gaze and held it steadily. Not anger or fear flashed in his eyes. Rather a vacuous, emotionless light shone through, refusing to reveal whatever emotions the elf now harbored.  

"No Merionè, Cièdron is right.  If he wants to know, then he has every right to know," he said slowly and carefully. "Besides, I have nothing to hide."

Merionè shook his head and slowly lowered himself to his seat. "This is folly, this is folly…" he repeated over and over again into his hands. Gandalf too sighed and stared straight into the fire.

"This is a mistake, Bratherond," the wizard warned.

But Bratherond took no heed of either of them and proceeded to tell his tale. His voice was level and tense as he spoke and its very resonance cut through the thick air like a knife.

"When the shadow first began to fall on Greenwood, I began my scouting missions for Thranduil, as we tried to discover what it was that haunted her trees and brought such fear into the hearts of the other races that her name had to be changed to Mirkwood. We soon discovered that a necromancer had taken abode in Dol Guldur, but we did not yet know it was Sauron. It was Mithrandir who later discovered the truth." Bratherond glanced at Gandalf as he said this, and then continued.

"Before Mithrandir discovered this however, I spent many dark days and nights traveling about Mirkwood with my warriors as we fought the ever strengthening shadow. It was awful… We watched as the trees changed – as they disintegrated into the gnarled monsters you see today, as Orcs and spiders violated our forest, chasing out the good creatures that once dwelled in Greenwood…" Bratherond paused and sighed. When he continued, his voice was barely even audible and he turned his bright eyes to the ground, unable to bear Cièdron's and Legolas' puncturing gazes when he uttered the next statement.

"Maegren and Feáner were two of my best warriors…."

What was done could no longer be undone. Gandalf, Merionè and Aragorn stiffened and watched Legolas and Cièdron with growing apprehension as the two sat frightfully still, as tense as pulled bowstrings ready to snap.

"Thranduil sent them out much more willingly than he did with you two, for the depth of the shadow was not yet known and besides – they truly were the most talented archers in Greenwood. I have not seen such talent since, with the exception of you, Legolas." 

Bratherond stared at the ground, as the awful memories now inundated his mind. Memories he had hoped he would never again have to relive, that he had for over 1500 years strove to bury, but never with any success. 

"They proved to be as talented in the wild as they were in the archery fields.  Aye, I admit, they were a pain at times – always teasing each other or the other scouts or teaming up against the rest of us for some foolish prank, but then again none of us, including them, really knew the seriousness of our situation. Anyway, they were fine warriors when they needed to be, so I let it pass…. But your sister was always rather jealous. She thought she could not join in our missions because she was a girl – she would complain often, 'but why is it I must stay at home with Legolas and Cièdron, who are but children? Why can I not join Maegren and Feáner, I am just as good an archer as they are!'  Yet Thranduil and I still thought she was too young – and could you really imagine your father allowing his only daughter to leave so easily? Anyway, as can only be expected from the children of Thranduil, 'no' was not enough to keep her at home. We often caught her trying to follow us and would then have to escort her back to Thranduil who was always prepared with a rather interesting punishment, but none ever seemed to get through to her."

At this point Bratherond gulped and he could no longer control the tremor in his voice.  Legolas and Cièdron still did not move.

"Well one day I suspected she had followed us again into the forest. I was especially annoyed for this was the fifth time I sensed her tracking us and we had already traveled rather far. I called for her, but she did not answer. I was also rather annoyed with Maegren and Feáner that day for they had been acting rather careless. So I ordered them to go and find their sister and bring her to me. I had no doubt she was near enough to hear me and I heard a faint scuffle that I knew was her running away in an attempt to hide from the inevitable trouble she would find herself in when her brothers found her. This annoyed me even more and so I ordered Maegren and Feáner not to come back without her – these woods are no place for a lone elf girl, even if the shadow was still in its early days! The rest of us set up camp and waited for your brothers to return, fully expecting it to take a while since your sister was quite the clever scamp."

Not a soul breathed when Bratherond stopped. The neglected fire dwindled, though still flickered and hissed weakly in the setting sun. Merionè held his head in his hands and Gandalf stood, facing away from the other elves. 

"They did not return," Bratherond finally whispered. He closed his eyes again and kept them shut as he struggled with the rest of his tale. "We found their bodies far from our camp the next day and brought them immediately to Thranduil, though he had already heard of what happened from your sister. And you already know this tale as well."

All was still. Not even the wind dared to disturb the group as they sat in a mixture of shock, remorse, and fear for what would now happen. Gandalf held his head in his hand and leaned wearily against his staff.  Merionè still remained with his head in his hands and Aragorn straightened and observed Legolas and Cièdron closely, trying to gauge their reactions. 

Both remained as still as stone for a few moments as they absorbed what Bratherond had just told them. Then, like an arrow released from its bow, Cièdron bolted up and struggled frantically against Legolas who desperately tried to hold down his brother. Aragorn immediately rushed to help Legolas in controlling Cièdron.

"IT IS YOUR FAULT!!! YOU KILLED THEM!" Cièdron yelled murderously. 

Bratherond continued to stare at the ground, not even flinching at Cièdron's outburst. Cièdron thrashed against the restraining arms of Legolas and Aragorn, but his weakened body soon relinquished and he seethed softly. 

"It is because of you they are dead. It is your fault – you are no better than a murderer, Bratherond." 

Legolas reeled slightly from the hatred he heard in Cièdron's voice. "Cièdron! No, no, do not think that – he did not know! It was not his fault!"

Cièdron whipped around and gaped at Legolas. "Did you not hear what he just said? Did you not hear his tale?! He sent Maegren and Feáner out alone! He did not even bother to look for them until it was too late! If it were not for him, they would still be alive, Legolas! _Maegren__ and Feáner would be here with us today! All the pain! All the misery that claimed Ada, that drove away Nana and Eilesiá and Orophmin! If it were not for him we would all be together today! We would not be here Legolas, in this forsaken wood, on this forsaken trip, we would be at home with our family! Our family that no longer exists because of him!" ****_

Legolas faltered just enough to allow Cièdron to break free of his grip, though Aragorn still held tightly to his other arm. "That is not true Cièdron. We were never meant to live in peace. That is not a life that we would have ever been blessed with. Sauron would have prevented that, he would have found a way," he whispered. 

Gandalf gazed darkly at Cièdron. "Cièdron do not allow yourself to be a hostage to your anger. It will only weaken you."

Bratherond watched Cièdron and with a sigh he stood. "Mithrandir is right…" he murmured as he began to trudge away from the group.

"Bratherond, where are you going?" Aragorn demanded. 

"I will not go far. I will be back in an hour before the sun has fully set. I assure you I have traveled through these woods many times alone."

"Bratherond, do not be so foolish!" Aragorn began to follow the elf, but Bratherond held up a hand to stop him.

"Aragorn, I wish to be alone and I am sure Cièdron and Legolas will not mind a moment away from me as well!" Bratherond insisted before turning and disappearing into the dark wood. 

"Let him go. We are better off without him," Cièdron muttered.

Legolas gaped at his brother and grabbed his arm. "Cièdron! Do not say that!"

"How could you be so calm and compliant about this Legolas?!" Cièdron angrily retorted as he ripped his arm away from Legolas' grip. 

"Cièdron!" Legolas again grabbed his arm and turned him around before tightly gripping his shoulders. "Cièdron, think about it – would Ada send him with us now if he blamed him for Maegren and Feáner's deaths? If Ada could forgive him then perhaps we should as well! Aragorn and Mithrandir are right! This anger, this fighting will only doom us! We already fell victim to it once – I will not allow it to happen again!" 

Cièdron slackened considerably at this. Legolas did have a point. Yet he still could not shake Bratherond's words from his mind. _Had he not decided to send them out, had he sent someone else instead… Cièdron collapsed to his seat, trembling slightly from his ebbing anger and the sudden grief that overwhelmed him. Legolas sat next to him and held tightly to his hand as he spoke gently._

"Cièdron, this pains me as much as it does you. You are right, had he not ordered them to search for Eilesiá, they would not be dead. But Eilesiá would be. Or anyone that he sent out in their place. It is fate we should blame for her cruelty, not Bratherond, though even that would be a waste of our time since she is out of anyone's control."

As Gandalf listened, he slowly turned and gazed in wonder at Legolas, for even he could not have predicted the elf's powerful display of wisdom.  Aragorn and Merionè also considered the youngest of Thranduil's sons with a mixture of surprise and astonishment. 

Several long moments passed as Cièdron sat quietly, mulling over Legolas' words. As much as he hated to admit it, Legolas was right. _How does he do it? He cannot stand Bratherond as much as me, yet he is still able to keep his head on straight even after this horrible tale. Aye, he is right, it was not Bratherond's fault- anyone who left that group would have been doomed!_

At this thought, Cièdron stiffened. "We cannot allow him to go out there alone." 

Aragorn nodded grimly, "I agree. I will find him." 

"I will go with you!" Cièdron offered as he rose from his seat.

"Nay Cièdron! Do not be ridiculous, you are still recovering- I will go with Aragorn!" Legolas insisted as he pushed his brother back to his seat.

"But, Legolas, it is my fault…"

"Nay Cièdron, it is no one's fault. You did not force Bratherond to leave, he decided that of his own accord. You wait here." As Legolas spoke, he grabbed his new bow and knife and followed Aragorn into the wood. 

Merionè sat down next to Cièdron and placed a hand on the elf's shoulder. 

"It is difficult, I know, Cièdron, but you must find it in your heart to forgive Bratherond. You should know he never did forgive himself for that day. That is why he was against you and Legolas coming in the first place…Why, I even believe you two remind him a bit of them. I know you certainly remind me…"

"We are not Maegren and Feáner, Merionè. We will not face the same fate."

"Aye, I know…" Merionè whispered softly. Again his mind darkened, and he had to shake his head against the muddled fog that taunted and distracted him. _This is all my fault…. They will not survive this… it is my fault…._

Cièdron did not say anything else as he suddenly felt rather numb. The world spun around his head like a tornado and he wondered how they had come here, to such a fate. _Ai, why must we live in such darkness?! What did Maegren and Feáner give their lives for? What is it we are fighting for now?_

Legolas would have answered, Middle Earth, Thranduil, Aragorn, all the races, perhaps even the dwarves, the sun, the moon, Greenwood – he would have taken hours listing all the wonders of Middle Earth, whether he visited them or not (and considering he had not traveled very far from Mirkwood, they would mostly be places he had not yet seen), but for a moment at least, Cièdron could not think of an answer.  All he could think of was his departed kin. 

Gandalf continued to face away from the fire and gazed distractedly into the forest.

"Did you hear that?" he asked suddenly, a sense of urgency growing in the wizard's voice. 

Merionè and Cièdron listened carefully to the sounds of the forest, both having been too lost in their own thoughts to hear whatever it was that disturbed Gandalf. A short moment passed and then they heard it. 

"Aye, Mithrandir, it sounds like distant thunder," Cièdron responded. At the same time, Merionè answered, "Aye, I hear Orc horns and they are not far now."

The two turned to each other, their eyes widening fearfully at what the other said. 

Gandalf looked sharply at Cièdron. "Thunder?" 

"Aye… though I hear the Orc horns as well…" Cièdron glanced at the sky and into the forest nervously, though through the thick branches he could see little.  "But I fear this storm will not be light…"

A sudden flash followed immediately by a rolling boom caused Cièdron to leap from his seat. 

"Nor slow in coming!" he shouted. "We must find the others!"

"Wait Cièdron!" Gandalf stared nervously at the trees and then anxiously paced around the area where they had set up camp, examining the depths of the forest.

Suddenly, an elf crashed through the shadowy wood. "A storm! A storm is coming! Quick! the wood is too dry! We must get away from here!" Bratherond ordered. He halted suddenly when he noticed only three awaited him.  

"Where are Aragorn and Legolas!?" 

"They went searching for you! We must find them!" Cièdron grabbed his bow, but the wizard again stopped him.   
  


"No Cièdron, they may already be returning. We must stay together as best as possible."

"But Mithrandir!" Cièdron started, but another deafening clap of thunder and blinding flash did not allow Cièdron to finish.  Just as he was about to resume his argument, Gandalf shushed him and motioned for everyone to listen carefully. 

Suddenly he straightened and whipped around to the others, "Did you hear that?!?" he demanded, the urgency in his voice rapidly mounting to an uncharacteristic panic. 

"Aye, Orcs!" Bratherond and Merionè shouted as they swiftly pulled out their bows and took aim at the shadows. 

But Cièdron did not pull out his bow. After listening carefully, he sniffed the air suspiciously and at the same time as Merionè's and Bratherond's yell, he shouted with even greater urgency,

"Aye! A fire! I hear the hiss of fire!!"  

Bratherond and Merionè gaped fearfully at Cièdron and Gandalf as the horrible truth of Cièdron's cry sunk in. They too could now smell the smoke. But before they could react, an arrow whizzed by Merionè's face, striking a tree behind him. 

"Fire and Orcs will not so easily defeat us! We will fight these devils and then we will continue south to the clearing of East Bight!" Gandalf cried to the others as they rapidly assumed defensive positions.

"But Legolas and Aragorn!! What of them?" Cièdron demanded.

Before anyone could answer another flash of lightning revealed the hideous figures of Orcs hurtling towards them, their arrows aimed and swords unsheathed. As the horses neighed and panicked, and the storm angrily erupted in another violent clap of thunder and lightning, another battle descended upon the unlucky scouts of Mirkwood.

**TBC**

I know I am a horrible horrible person, leaving you off like this… And what's worse, I don't know when I will post again (classes start soon and I am moving this week) Plus I think I need a short break (just a short one! Do not worry, I promise this story will not be abandoned! *waves notes and epilogue as proof*)

I may write one more chapter before school starts, just to get off this cliffie here, but then I'm afraid there will be longer waits between chapters…. I do have a habit of missing entire months as they fly by when I get into school, so if it starts to take too long, just badger me (for someone who's going to be a lawyer, I give in to guilt trips pretty quickly).  

Some of you were wondering how long this story would end up being. I suspect I have at least 12-15 chapters left, but then again I have a reputation for underestimating everything, so who knows. 

**Abomination**: lol – sorry to disappoint you there! Yeah, I guess he's not the most likeable of characters… Perhaps I'll do a prequel/spin off type fic one day "Kariler, Filinor and the Mules"… a vignette or something… hmmmm……

**Alexa****:  Yeah, I wondered about the same thing myself (about legolas taking a backseat to Aragorn) But I guess even with all those elven powers, that can't make up for experience which Aragorn has.  Ah, and you're right, I certainly didn't throw in all those comments just for the fun of it.**

**Arayelle**** Lyn:  An angst lover I see! Hehehe **

**Dot:** Thank you! I was very nervous about that chapter because it was my first real fight scene. I'm so glad you approve!

**Ecri**: Thank you! Yeah, you're right, there are no elf children mentioned… And I bet he probably is one of the youngest elves in Middle Earth. Or certainly he is of the youngest generation at least. 

**Gwyn**:  Eek! I'll remember to hide away for a while then if I do kill him! 

**Lamiel****:  hehe… I do like to push the limits of Elven powers to defy the laws of physics…  **

**LittleLoopy**: Ah, I see… of course, I guess I did misunderstand.  Well, in that case….

**Maranwe****: Thank you! Yes, I have noticed Fanfic is a little funny with their reviews – I don't know if its holding any back or not, but it lists a different number depending on how I find my story, and none match up with the number they actually sent me by email. **

**Pinto**: Thank you so much!

**RainyDayz****:  Wow! Thank you! Don't umm… die or faint or anything… ;) Thank you so much! *mmm…. candies….***

**Shaan**** Lien: Thank you!**

**Shadow Warrior:** Thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying it (even the OCs!)

**Sirith****:  Thank you for the review!**

**Sirithiliel****: Thank you! You don't have to review every chapter… well you could, of course I appreciate it, but I understand if you don't.  : )**

**Tainted Fortune:** Thank you! Glad you're not too disappointed. Yeah, there is lots of guilt going around… Everyone blames themselves for everyone else's problems. Sheesh

**Tourignyne****:  Thank you! This is my first venture into creative writing and though it is fun, it is rather tough, so the idea of writing a completely original one boggles my mind – I doubt I will venture into that territory anytime soon.  But thank you!**

**Viktoreja**** Rose: Thank you!! So glad you're not mad anymore *phew*  **

**WeasleyTwinsLove**r:: Yeah it would have been difficult to write Legolas after that not fading or being horribly depressed and that really would not work well for the other things I have planned…


	13. It Began in Mirkwood'

Oooh…. Lucky number 13... (hehe)

Disclaimer: Tolkien's characters are not mine. I'm just playing with them.

**Chapter 13**

**And They Will Say, 'It Began in Mirkwood'**

Like vultures on corpses, the Orcs swarmed into the area where the elves had set up camp for the night.  Arrows ripped through the air, the wizard's staff walloped and bashed, and swords and daggers clinked in another bloody melee. 

And yet Orcs were the least of their troubles. For not more than a league away from where Bratherond, Merionè, Cièdron and Gandalf battled against the Orcs, a far more dangerous enemy ravaged the forest.  

"We must get out of here!" Bratherond yelled as he beheaded an Orc and moved on to another.

After days of traveling, Mirkwood finally offered the elves her nefarious, hellish welcome. In angry, thunderous breaths, Arda's storms whipped through the trembling, ashen trees and in one strike, the gnarled branches lit up in billowing flames. Smoke laced through the forest, reaching far beyond the flames' tendrils warning the creatures that dared to enter this wood, they were no longer welcome. 

Gandalf swung his staff like a saber, catching his targets through brief flashes as lightning lit up the black wood in an eerie bluish glow. Cièdron twirled and ripped the air with both his and Legolas' knives in one flash of lightning and landed them in the bellies and throats of two Orcs in another.  The wind grew ever stronger, wildly whipping the elves' and wizard's long hair and spitting dust, leaves, twigs and ash into their faces.

Suddenly a great crack broke the rumbling air, and a towering tree one hundred yards away from the battle toppled as flames nipped and chewed at its trunk. As it fell, black crows squawked and escaped from its branches in an eruption of crunching leaves and snapping wood. A gingery radiance flickered against the thickening smoke and exploded into searing white and blue whenever lightning streaked across the blackened sky. Orc and elf alike realized their peril, yet they zealously pressed on with their battle in a deadly contest to see who would run first from Mirkwood's own fatal weapon. But the elves did have one advantage.

A shrill whistle shot through the air above the hissing and cackling of the approaching flames.  Four horses answered the wizard's call and kicked their way through the tangle of Orcs. As he bludgeoned one of the black, twisted creatures, Gandalf swung himself on top of his mount and rode through the fray whipping his staff to clear a path for the three elves to reach their horses. As the first to reach his mount, Bratherond grabbed his bow and in a piercing flash his arrows split the throats of the Orcs that still hindered Cièdron and Merionè who then nimbly leapt to the backs of their steeds.  As another tree tumbled down, the Orcs realized their grave disadvantage – they had only their own feet to carry them away – and they scattered and fled. 

"Alas that we cannot sprout wings and fly, but at least we have swift legs below us! Do not look behind you!" Gandalf yelled and with tremulous neighs above the roaring thunder, the horses broke into a furious sprint as more enflamed branches and smoldering ashes rained down upon them. 

They may not have had wings, but the magnificent horses of Thranduil may well have been eagles for their speed and agility carried the elves and wizard like arrows piercing through the air, weaving through the trees and leaping through bush and bramble. Smoke and cindering twigs trailed them and above the lightning still teased them as the storm held back the torrents of rain that they so desperately prayed for now. 

"We must find Legolas and Aragorn!!" Cièdron yelled.  A moment later, he tugged on his horse to stop and turned around, poised to fly back into the fire.  His pale face blazed in the blue and orange explosions, and his eyes were wide with terror and worry, but frozen as ice in their determination. 

The others stopped as well and glanced around frantically as the horses neighed in confusion. _'We can bring you away from here! We were going to make it! Why give up now? We do not like this fire!'_ they seemed to be saying.  A flash of lightning revealed the grim, resolute face of the wizard as he narrowed his eyes and studied the growing conflagration.  

"Two horses did not come to me when I whistled," he spoke steadily above a clap of thunder. "We must trust that Aragorn and Legolas are upon their backs now." 

"And if they are not!?" Cièdron cried. His horse reared as a burning branch fell at its feet.

"Then they will have found a way!" the wizard returned as his own horse neighed and reared in the wake of a collapsing tree. "Come on!!"

Cièdron steadied his horse, and despite the poor creature's protests, he commanded it to turn back. "No! I am going back! We must find them!!" 

"Cièdron! They will not have stayed there! You will not find them!" Gandalf yelled desperately.

Suddenly a lone horse leapt through the bramble, escaping the fire behind it - Legolas' horse. Cièdron's eyes widened and in a flash of lightning, he galloped back towards the fire, followed by the other elves and wizard. 

"Cièdron!!" 

Back into the fire they flew and through flames and smoke, the horses bucked and neighed for their masters to give them permission to flee.  Branches crumbled and crashed around them and the sweltering heat made even the elves sweat. Their skin burned from the scorching air and the scenery undulated in simmering waves dotted with flickering sparks. 

Yet Cièdron did not feel the burning, he did not hear the hiss and crackle, and he did not notice how the view ahead of him swayed and wavered, like the boiling tides of an ocean.  He pressed his horse forward and jumped through flames and bramble until he was blackened with a moist, pasty soot. 

"LEGOLAS! ARAGORN!!"  

Determined to not let the elf die in his futile search, Gandalf displayed as much stamina as Cièdron against the flames, knowing all too well Cièdron would not feel the fire and smoke as they tore and battered him. Merionè choked on the thick smoke and Bratherond grabbed him as he nearly fell off of his horse from the spasms that overtook his body.  

"We cannot stay here!" he yelled before collapsing in his own fit of coughs, never removing his hand from Merionè. 

Gandalf struggled to locate Cièdron in the fiery confusion. The heat singed his skin and beads of sweat trickled down his face, burning his eyes with a mixture of salt and ash.  The crashes of trees and thunder bellowed angrily.  Gandalf found Cièdron and galloped next to him as the elf suffocated on the smoke's poisonous fumes, heaving and coughing terribly.

"We will all die if we stay! They are not here Cièdron! You must trust that they escaped!" Gandalf shouted. 

In response, another choking cough flew his way and not waiting for words to replace it, Gandalf swiftly whacked Cièdron's horse with his staff and shouted an order for it to flee. 

"We flee now! Do not look back!" the wizard yelled to the others. The wizard's cry was enough of an order for the horses who did not wait for their masters to give further permission.  They broke into another sprint, flying through flames and smoke, refusing this time to stop no matter what their masters may order. _You may have a death wish, but you will have to jump off our backs if you want to see that one fulfilled, for we have no desire to die! _

Cièdron gritted his teeth and focused his full concentration on not falling off the horse as his oxygen deprived mind swam on the brink of delirium. _Coward, the fire hissed and seethed. __That's right! Run! Leave your brother and Aragorn to burn!, the thunder laughed as it rolled across the sky. _They waited for you Cièdron, they were waiting for you and now they burn, _the trees cackled. _

_No! Gandalf is right, they would have found a way!, he yelled back, though even if his yell was aloud, it was lost in the fiery wind. But his mind would not yield so easily. Suddenly, his father's own voice scolded him. __You left him? Are two dead sons not enough!? Now I must lose another because of you! My youngest burns because of you! _

Tears moistened his eyes, but dried up before they reached his cheek in the fierce, stormy wind. At last, the storm clouds decided it was time to offer some respite, and they erupted in a torrential downpour. Cièdron swayed from his ever growing delirium.  Even in the bright flashes of lightning he could not see through the bucketfuls of rain. He did not know if the others were near or not anymore. He did not know how long he would continue riding or to where he was riding. As the raindrops splashed against the trees they sung, _coward, coward, coward…._

"NO!" Cièdron shut his eyes and put all his trust into his horse to carry him away. He no longer cared where he ended up or what happened as his mind fell into a vindictive shadow.  _He burns while you ride free. As the flames scar his skin, the raindrops cool yours. _

He could not take it anymore. Not smoke, nor fire, nor rain claimed Cièdron, only his own mind, burdened by guilt. Guilt's noose tightened and suffocated him until he collapsed into darkness.  In a move that can only be performed by an elf, Bratherond leapt from his horse to Cièdron's catching the prince before he slipped and fell under the trampling hooves. He grabbed him tightly as the horses dashed on, unwilling to stop even when they had long ago outraced the deadly flames.

Nature has a way of correcting herself, and the same fierce storm that ignited Mirkwood into flames, extinguished those flames in a river of cooling rain. Yet it was not until the rain dissipated to a drizzle, and the wind calmed to a powerful breeze that Gandalf and the elves finally decided to stop.  Bratherond carefully carried Cièdron, who awoke during the ride, off the horse's back and the two collapsed to the ground in exhaustion and grief at having left behind Aragorn and Legolas. 

Merionè sank with his back against the tree, panting and holding his head in his hands. _The sea, the sea_, his mind whispered. Seagulls cried, waves lapped and he could even smell the salty air. _You should have come to me ages ago, Merionè, the sea beckoned in his mind. __None of this would have happened had you listened to my call. You have made one too many mistakes and now you cannot come. You have forsaken the sea. _

"No, no..." he wept into his hands, "please, forgive me! Ai! Let me come, let me come…" 

Gandalf breathed heavily and leaned against his staff as he observed the three elves, collapsed in grief, exhaustion, and hopelessness. They had ridden for the remainder of the night and now morning brightened the wood in her usual gray mist, but not even the brightest of mornings (which one could never even hope for in Mirkwood anyway) could bring cheer to the forlorn group. They had entered the forest full of resolve, but Mirkwood merely laughed at the elves' vain battle. Like toy ships in an angry sea, the travelers were tossed, bruised, beaten and mocked by the ferocity of the forest.

"Bratherond, get up," the wizard gently, but firmly demanded. "Cièdron, Merionè, get up."

Bratherond shut his eyes for a moment to regain his composure, and forced himself to stand, pulling Cièdron up with him. Gandalf walked over to Merionè and gently grasped his arm to pull him up.  The elves wavered and trembled in the foggy breeze like withering petals. Tears moistened the eyes of Cièdron and Merionè.  None of the elves may have been seriously injured physically, but sometimes injuries to the mind can be just as debilitating as broken limbs and scars.  Their worry and guilt for Legolas and Aragorn was almost palpable – not that Gandalf could blame them, for his own heart trembled with fear for the ranger and elf, but he knew if he could not bring hope to them, they would have no hope at all in surviving another day in Mirkwood. 

"I will be leaving you now to find Aragorn and Legolas. _When I do…" Gandalf looked at Cièdron pointedly as he said this, assuring the elf he would find them.  He then returned his sharp gaze to the others and continued,_

"The three of us shall head east and discover how the tidings of war swell in those lands. Thus I do not know when we shall meet again. Remember, this is about more than just Merionè's warriors or a threat to your King! I do not know when, where or how the actual battle will begin – some damned trick by Sauron on the eastern borders of the lands of men I suspect will ignite it. But regardless of where the swords of armies clash, we will all say afterwards 'the war began in Mirkwood.'"

The three elves stiffened and stared solemnly at the wizard, awed by his omniscience and calm even after all they had been through. At the very mention of Mirkwood's own ongoing war, their eyes hardened and their grips tightened around their weapons in a resurgence of their earlier steadfastness. Feeling heartened by this display of the thick skin and determination of the wood elves, Gandalf continued,

"Discover what you can.  Three Nazgul occupy Dol Guldur, but we do not know what they, or Sauron, are planning. Whatever you find will prove helpful. Perhaps you will even discover the truth of the ring, for as Aragorn said, we cannot be certain that Saruman is correct in his assertions that it has passed over the sea. Perhaps all you will discover is what we already know – that the war against Sauron is growing imminent.  But whatever you find will not only help your King. It will help all the peoples of Middle Earth as we prepare for the next great battle. I wish you all the best of luck."

A sober smile bent Gandalf's lips. "I pray that we will meet again soon…" He gazed warmly at the elves and his twinkling, sagacious eyes lingered on Cièdron. "Your father will be proud of you Cièdron, no matter what happens. You should know that. Do not worry about Legolas. He is no fool and he and Aragorn would have found a way out of that fire. And I promise you I will find that elf!" 

Cièdron offered a weak smile, feeling slightly relieved at Gandalf's words. With a wink, the wizard turned and kicked his horse into a gallop.  The paths of the Istari are not controlled by anyone but themselves and Gandalf, as was his wont, had come and gone like a visiting spirit to the three elves. Though they had known Gandalf would most likely not travel with them for the remainder of their journey and though they were relieved he had decided to search for Aragorn and Legolas, their hearts lamented his departure like a sailor who had lost his compass in the middle of the sea. 

They stood solemnly for a moment, watching as the wizard disappeared into the shadowy wood. Though encouraged by Gandalf, weariness still claimed their bodies and minds. Suddenly, with Gandalf gone, the forest felt eerily quiet and dreadful. With only the darkness of Dol Guldur ahead of them and the scorched remnants of a warg infested, spider-ridden, Orc inhabited hell behind them, Gandalf's encouragement seemed but a transient hope, easily blown away like a dandelion in the breeze. 

Bratherond sighed and stroked his skittish horse. "Well, you heard Mithrandir. He is right. Do not grieve for Legolas – I have no doubt with Aragorn with him, along with his own wits, he will be fine. They will both be fine."  Merionè and Cièdron exchanged surprised glances at the confidence Bratherond just showed in the abilities of the human and the young prince. 

Perhaps his heart had softened to Aragorn after the ranger had saved his life. Or perhaps he had no other choice but to convince himself that the two would be able to take care of themselves since he would not be there to protect Legolas.  But whatever the reason may be, Bratherond's companions would never discover it and the taciturn elf would never reveal it.  Alas, not even Aragorn would learn of Bratherond's final show of confidence in him. The ranger would always remember the surly elf for his low opinion of the race of humans – yet after witnessing Aragorn save Legolas' and Cièdron's lives from the warg, then Cièdron again from his wound, and his own life, Bratherond had decided that after this mission, he would devote his strength whenever he could, to aiding the exiled king in reclaiming his throne and saving his land from the shadow of Sauron.  Had fate allowed it, he would have fought in the battle of Pelennor Fields as fervently as he fought in Mirkwood, side by side with humans as well as elves.  Such was the power of Aragorn to inspire loyalty and to win the devotion of even the most obstinate, dogmatic of beings. But this silent oath of loyalty would be carried by Bratherond to his grave and Aragorn would never learn of it.  Such are the sad workings of Fate, that one may never know the true depths of another's heart. 

"Come on. We will not let King Thranduil down," Bratherond ordered as he mounted his horse. Cièdron and Merionè reluctantly mounted their own steeds, and they pressed forward into the infinite depths of an evil they had only begun to scratch the surface of.

* * * *

"A curse on the stubborn necks of elves," Aragorn grumbled as he and Legolas crept stealthily through the twisted trees in search of Bratherond.

Legolas narrowed his eyes at the disgruntled human. "And I suppose humans never wish to be alone, Master Ranger!" 

"Not in haunted forests overrun by the servants of Sauron," Aragorn answered dryly.

"It is not haunted Aragorn."

"Well it may as well be."

Legolas paused and glanced around him, a slight confusion coloring his eyes. They had been away from the others for only twenty minutes at the most, but suddenly he had the chilling feeling he knew not how to get back.   As he looked at the unfamiliar surroundings, he could have sworn the trees had altered their positions – nothing seemed to be in the right place! He frowned as he debated telling Aragorn of his sudden disorientation.  _Imagine! A wood elf getting lost in his own forest! I would never live this down. What if he told Cièdron? Or Elladan and Elrohir?  Legolas shuddered at the very thought of his brother or Aragorn's feisty step-brothers finding out that he, the renowned archer and Prince of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil, got lost in what could technically be considered his backyard. _I may as well renounce my status and move into the mines of the dwarves in shame!__

Aragorn too stopped and studied their surroundings with a growing frown.  _We came from that direction, but where are our tracks?_  If he didn't know better he would have sworn the trees had used their roots to pick up the scattered leaves, dust and dirt and then cover their trails, just for the fun of it. With the sun blocked by the thick branches and gathering clouds, Aragorn could not even depend on that for direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed at Legolas, who appeared to be rather disconcerted as well by the ambiguous forest.  Hesitantly, he cleared his throat to get the elf's attention. 

"Legolas do you know the way back from here?" Aragorn asked frankly.

Legolas shot him a grim look which Aragorn immediately interpreted as 'no.' 

"That's what I thought," Aragorn murmured as he crouched to study the ground and search for their tracks. "I know we came from here, yet it does not seem familiar and our tracks are hidden from my sight…" 

Legolas walked to his side and peered into the leering forest, "Perhaps we should just walk in this direction and our memories will decide to return to us…"

 "Aye…" Aragorn grumbled under his breath, feeling rather frustrated that even after all his experience as a ranger he still could not decipher the enigmatic forest of Mirkwood.

For a few minutes they hiked back in the direction from which they thought they had come when Aragorn halted. 

"We turned somewhere. This is not right," he announced. 

Legolas frowned, "Aye, I know we turned, but I thought it was further up."

"I do not recognize these trees though….We must have turned farther back."

Legolas placed his hands on one of the trees and studied its rough trunk, "Nay, I think I remember this tree…"

Aragorn cocked an eyebrow. "How is that tree different from the others?" 

"It used to be a birch," Legolas answered matter-of-factly as he gazed up at the slender branches. 

"But there have been many birches scattered throughout this area- how do you know it is the same one you already saw?" 

"There haven't been that many birches, Aragorn."

Aragorn sighed and continued forward. "Fine, we will keep going then."

For a few more minutes they walked through the sticky bramble as the sky above them darkened with the setting sun and gathering storm. This time Legolas halted.  When Aragorn heard the light crunching of leaves under the elf's feet stop he turned and looked at Legolas who had laid his hand on another tree. 

"Is that one familiar to you as well?" 

Legolas avoided his gaze as he answered, "Nay, Aragorn, but it is just like the other. It is also a birch. Perhaps that other one was not the same one I had already seen."  _Even the trees have turned against us now!_

"Then we will go back," Aragorn muttered as he began to backtrack. _Some wood elf_…

After a few more moments of ambling through the maze of, what Legolas was now convinced were _sneering_ trees, they both stopped simultaneously. 

"This is not right, Aragorn," Legolas stated simply as his frustrated gaze took in the trees around him. Now they all looked strangely familiar, as did every single cursed, decrepit tree in all of Mirkwood! 

Aragorn crouched again and grabbed a handful of leaves. "None of these are even broken. Did we walk through here at all?"

"We are backtracking though! We must have walked through here at least once!" Legolas cried. He turned around again, fighting the swelling doubt he was beginning to have about his own sanity. As his frustration grew, Legolas scanned the ground with his keen eyes for a broken leaf, more to prove that he was not insane than to ascertain whether they had really been there before. 

"Perhaps if we call out, the others will answer us and we can find our way back," Legolas finally suggested when he could not find even one cracked leaf.

Aragorn raised his eyebrows and indicated for Legolas to shout. In response, Legolas released a powerful, loud cry in elvish. The words echoed throughout the trees and bounced off the bushes and returned to Legolas. For a few moments they waited for a response that would never come. 

"Well…" Aragorn began as he slowly stood up and looked around them, debating which direction they should try next. 

"We should go that way!" Legolas and Aragorn said this at the same time, though they pointed in opposite directions. 

"Why do you say that way?!" they then simultaneously demanded of each other.

Aragorn let out another frustrated sigh and mimicked Bratherond's earlier claim that he could find his way around the forest just fine by himself. "_I can find my way around… I would like to know how that elf finds his way around this cursed wood!"_

"Perhaps he leaves a trail of crumbs," Legolas replied with a faint smirk as he imagined Bratherond daintily dropping crumbs of lembas as he trudged gruffly through the woods.

Aragorn smiled grimly and slapped Legolas lightly on the back, "Then we are fools indeed for not following those crumbs straight to him! Come I think I recognize those trees as the ones we passed earlier," he said as he began to walk in the direction he had pointed in. 

But Legolas did not follow him. Instead, the elf stiffened and remained as still as stone as he glanced nervously towards the sky.

"What is it Legolas?" Aragorn asked anxiously, wondering what malevolent sounds his elf ears picked up now. 

"Thunder."

Aragorn froze and joined Legolas in peering through the branches at the rapidly blackening sky. A sudden flash of lightning confirmed Legolas' observation as a violent clap shook the earth. 

Muttering a rather crude elvish curse under his breath, Aragorn grabbed Legolas' arm. "We must find our way back now! Come!" 

Not wanting to waste any time, but not wanting to move too fast either while they were lost, they broke into a light jog, frantically trying to figure out the way back to the others.   As they ran, lightning flashed in increasing frequency and the thunder clapped ever more violently while the wind gathered her strength. 

"This isn't right Aragorn!" Legolas yelled. "This is not where we came from!"

Aragorn stopped and his eyes darted quickly around him, "This way!" he decided quickly and the two began to jog to the right. 

Suddenly, as lightning streaked above the wood, two arrows streaked inches away from Aragorn's and Legolas' noses.

"Ai!" the elf cried as he hastily drew out his bow and aimed in the direction from where one of the arrows came. "This is no time for a battle with Orcs!"

"I'm afraid we have no choice Legolas!" Aragorn responded as he stood poised with his arrow notched and ready to shoot as well. They stood in silence for a few moments, searching the trees around them for their attackers when suddenly a bright flash followed by a deafening crash pervaded the woods.  Aragorn's eyes widened when he perceived where the crash had come from. Legolas too spotted the source of the crash and his arms quavered as he slowly lowered his bow in terrified shock. Little did they know, one hundred yards away on the other side of that crash, Gandalf, Merionè, Cièdron and Bratherond were fighting their own battle. Another arrow and the shrill cry of a horn caused Aragorn and Legolas to snap out of their momentary trance and they shot their arrows at the now visible Orcs that raced towards them, ready to attack. 

"We must run," Aragorn hissed as he glimpsed the bright flames stretching towards the sky in the distance. "As soon as we can, we must get out of here."

Legolas nodded in agreement as his bow sang and a series of deadly shots downed five Orcs. 

Arrows ripped from Aragorn's bow as well before the ranger quickly switched to his own weapon of choice, his sword. Even a dozen Orcs had little chance of outmaneuvering the duo as Legolas' arrows burst through the tense, thickening air and Aragorn's sword shimmered in the flickering lightning. The elf swiveled gracefully, striking Orcs all around them and was about to pull out his knife when an inflamed tree suddenly crashed at his feet. 

"Aragorn! I believe now is the time to run!" he shouted as the Orcs scattered, yelping and screaming around them.

Aragorn beheaded one more Orc and met Legolas' gaze, "I could not agree more!"

The two then shot out in a mad dash through bush and bramble, zigzagging through trees, leaping over rocks and never looking back. Behind them trees were consumed in flames and billowing smoke chased them, threatening their lungs with its poisonous choking fumes. 

"This way Legolas!" Aragorn cried as he jolted to the left. He jumped back in shock as an Orc stepped in his path and leered hungrily at him, slowly raising his bow. Aragorn swiftly beheaded the creature and ducked as an arrow from another Orc flew over his head.

"Never mind! The other way!" he yelled, deciding now definitely was no time to fight Orcs.

The two thus turned and ducked out of the way as more arrows chased them. As one whiffed past Legolas' cheek, he let out an annoyed, "Argh!" and turned to answer the Orc's attacks with his own arrows, as easily as if he was swatting at an irksome fly.  He then hopped around and continued to sprint past Aragorn.

Lightning flashed, brightening the already glowing wood and thunder roared throughout the sky.  Aragorn's eyes began to sting and tear as the smoke and scolding air caught up to them.  For several minutes he ran just a few meters behind Legolas when suddenly, a slew of elvish curses flew his way. In a moment, he caught up to Legolas and found what it was that had distressed the elf. 

"A cliff! Since when were there cliffs in Mirkwood?!" Legolas cried. He stood at the edge of a steep cliff, at the bottom of which was a shallow, mostly dried out black lake. 

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "Since when did you assume cliffs and lakes did not exist in Mirkwood?!" 

Quickly, Aragorn scanned the edges of the cliff and noted that rocks and edges protruded at various points. It would be tricky to climb down, but considering the conflagration behind them, it was a risk he would be willing to take.

"Well, perhaps I should have practiced climbing your father's furniture after all!" Aragorn muttered, suddenly feeling rather envious of the nimble climbing skills of the wood elves. 

Legolas furrowed his eyebrows and leapt to the closest protruding rock, grimacing at the tremble in it as he landed. 

"Wait Aragorn! Let me find a rock for you!" he called as he lightly jumped to another rock. This one broke away under his feet, but the elf was quick and he smoothly hopped to another one that remained sturdy even as he tested its strength by jumping again on it. 

"Here Aragorn! This one will hold you!"   

Aragorn grimaced – the rock that had broken away was the very one he was eyeing – but he trusted Legolas' judgment and thus lowered himself to the rock he suggested as the elf moved on to another. They proceeded like this until they made it half way down, cringing every time loose rocks and dirt collapsed in their wake. Above them, the fire hissed and raged menacingly and lightning streaked across the sky. Legolas hopped lightly from rock to rock as if he were playing a game of hopscotch as the ranger gingerly continued to squat and lower himself, using his hands to grip to whatever protruding branch or rock he could find. 

Suddenly, with another loud clap of thunder, the rain erupted and more loud curses flew from both the elf and human in response. _If this is not a sign we are not welcome here, I don't know what is!_ Aragorn thought. Blinded by the sheet of rain, the ranger stopped and bent down feeling the side of the cliff with his hands and feet before continuing his downward climb. Legolas continued to hop, but at a much slower pace, hesitating each time as he peered through the wall of rain. As they climbed closer to the bottom, the incline decreased slightly though the slope still remained dangerously steep and slippery with mud and loosened dirt.

Just as they reached the top of the final quarter, a muffled crash split through the thick drops of rain causing both to stop and gaze timidly above them.  Gandalf certainly was not kidding when he told them even luck would not be on their side in this part of Middle Earth! A tree had fallen at the top of the cliff, its branches swiping a large area of loose dirt and rocks which now tumbled down towards them. 

"Ai! Valar!" Legolas groaned as he hopped to the same rock Aragorn was on and instinctively pressed the ranger into the side of the cliff, protecting him from the barrage with his own body. When the cascade of rocks and dirt ceased, Legolas slowly turned and peered up.  Aragorn held on to the elf's arm as he too carefully scanned the top of the cliff. 

"I think it's over…" 

But it was not over. One more loose rock above them had decided to let go of its hold and tumbled down, swiping Legolas on the side of his shoulder. In a flash of lightning and violent clap of thunder, the elf was jerked out of Aragorn's grip and he disappeared below him.  

"LEGOLAS!" Aragorn shouted again, panic flaring in his heart as he heard dirt and rocks crumble and fall below him against the spattering of rain. 

Struggling to maintain his calm, Aragorn immediately continued to climb down, cursing his human feet for not having the swift agility of the elves as he could not move nearly as fast as he wanted to. The rain continued to pelt against his face and lightning flashed as he searched the ground below for any sign of the elf, but between the thick veil of rain and the darkness of night, he could barely even see the ground. 

"Legolas! I'm almost there!" he called as he approached the bottom, praying desperately for a response. But besides the splash of the rain against the lake and the rumblings of thunder, the wood remained deathly quiet. Even the hiss of the fire had been quenched by the downpour.

When at last he reached the foot of the cliff, he sprinted to the spot he thought he heard Legolas fall.

"LEGOLAS!" Aragorn rummaged through the bramble and feverishly scanned the area as he repeatedly called his name. 

And then he saw him. In a flash of lightning the elf was revealed, prone in the midst of sharp bramble, a glowing heap in the dark night. 

Aragorn caught his breath and hurried to Legolas' side.  As he kneeled next to him Aragorn noticed with relief that the elf's side rose and fell in rapid breaths, but his heart still swelled with worry that Legolas had not yet responded to him. Carefully Aragorn reached out to turn the elf over, assuming that he was unconscious. But a soft, pained groan alerted to Aragorn otherwise and he started with surprise.

"Legolas! Legolas, it is alright, it's me!" he whispered hoarsely, as he slowly turned the elf over. When he did, he found that the elf's eyes were shut in pain and he hugged his shoulder tightly. Aragorn carefully moved aside Legolas' hand so that he could see the shoulder, and grimaced to find it dislocated. He then felt his side, and just as he suspected, a few ribs also were broken from the fall. Again Legolas groaned and hugged his shoulder.

"It will be alright Legolas, you will heal from this, it is only a few broken bones…" Aragorn rambled on as he gently cupped the elf's cheek, in an attempt to distract him before he put the elf through one final bout of pain.

Legolas gasped and hissed softly through clenched teeth, "Ai! Just do it already Aragorn!"

Aragorn pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. "Well, if you insist Legolas. Don't worry, I'll try to be quick, I have done this many times before – once when Halbarad fell from his horse…"

*POP*  
  


The shoulder was back in place, but the elf's consciousness had been lost with a surprised gasp. Aragorn sighed and wiped the wet, knotted hair away from Legolas' pale face. As he leaned back on his heels, he studied their surroundings. 

Through the allaying storm, Aragorn observed the pitter-patter of raindrops and faint flashes of lightning against the rippled surface of a lake the color of malt beer. Brambles and wet leaves cloaked its shores and beyond the lake, the noxious forest stretched on like a giant cage.  With a sinking heart, he realized they were as lost as grains of sand on a beach in a labyrinthine forest that at this very moment was dying all around them.  Hope seemed no more than an illusion in this graveyard where elves continued to fight a slowly losing battle.  As he gazed at the deathly-still, pallid form of Legolas, whose own glow could not hold against the decaying wood that sucked out droplets of hope like a dry sponge, Aragorn had to fight back the sudden temptation to scream with frustration.

But then again, Mirkwood was not the only land troubled by Sauron's forces.  With a heavy heart, he thought of the lands of men who fought a never-ending battle against the Easterlings.  Though he had yet to claim the throne that was his birthright, his connection and devotion to these lands was almost uncanny in its innateness, as if his blood flowed from the very rivers that traversed Gondor. It mattered not that he was raised in Ithilien – his home was in Gondor. His life and his death belonged to Gondor.  He only hoped he would not let his country down.

As he thought of this, his kinship to Legolas felt stronger than ever. For in Legolas he saw that same fire – the fire that Gandalf had already noted long ago – a flame that burnt for Mirkwood and for Middle Earth that could never be extinguished, not by storms, Orcs or wargs. _Or by a couple of broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, spider wounds, warg bites, or by being lost in the middle of Valar knows where….  Or so Aragorn hoped with a grim, sardonic smile as he gently lift the elf and brought him closer to the foot of the cliff so that he could lean against its wall and keep watch ahead of them.   _

"Alright Legolas. Let's see those superior elven healing powers of yours get to work. We have a long day ahead of us mellonin," Aragorn whispered as he carefully settled him down. 

After binding Legolas' chest, and making sure the elf had no more wounds, he leaned against the cliff and waited for the sun to rise and Legolas to wake. As his mind finally slowed down, it was drawn back to the other elves and Gandalf.  His stomach clenched in worry for all of them, and from more than just the fire and Orcs.  A gnawing suspicion haunted his mind, and as much as he tried to ignore it, he could not quell the ominous feeling that the elves were drawing ever closer to their own doom. __

**TBC**

**Reviewers! Gracias, Merci, Grazie, Cheers, Danke, Thank you, Hanta! **

**I'm going to rush and get this up so I'll save the reviewer responses for next time, but of course I do appreciate them as always. One quick thing – Alexa had a very good idea that I should post at the bottom when I think I will get the next update up. Honestly, I really don't know – I'm beat from school already-  but I did start the next chapter, so maybe in another 2-3 weeks…  **


	14. Decisions

A/N: Hello whoever has not yet given up on me! ;) I am so sorry it has taken so long (so much for 2-3 weeks….) Classes have drained me & when I finally do have time, my mind is always still so stuck on everything else that I can't get into the right "mode." Anyway, I know how annoying it can be waiting for an update, but I tried to make this a long one to make up for the delay… So here you go & hopefully the next wait won't be quite so long!

Disclaimer: I now know the legal consequences of breaking copyright laws and so I will no longer joke about this, nope, no more. This is serious business. Legolas, Aragorn, Thranduil, and Gandalf are not mine.  But Tolkien, wherever you are, you're more than welcome to my boys!

**Chapter 14 **

**Decisions**

Aragorn awoke with a start to the cawing of black crows and the twittering of creatures rummaging through the skeletal forest for the scant remains of carcasses and twigs.  A nebulous, simmering mist hung over the syrupy lake, through which the hazy afternoon sun shone giving the water an eerie, slick glimmer.  Cursing himself both for dozing off in the first place and for the length of time he must have slept, Aragorn straightened and turned anxiously towards Legolas.

The elf lay peacefully next to him, eyes closed, and lost in a deep, serene sleep.  Aragorn carefully examined his shoulder and ribs to make sure they were healing properly and then searched the elf's face for signs of pain. But beside the fact that Legolas slept in the manner of humans rather than elves, with his eyes tightly shut, he showed no sign of strain or suffering in his smooth, relaxed features.  Aragorn could not help the twitch in his lips as he gazed at Legolas for the formidable archer now looked as harmless as a young human who had just spent the night celebrating with a little too much wine. Alas that it was not celebrating that had taken such a toll on the elf's energy!

Aragorn carefully tightened a ripped piece of his cape around Legolas' shoulder, taking care not to disturb the elf's sleep and noting the steady pulse in his slender wrist as he did so.  Suddenly, as he gently laid Legolas' arm back down across his chest, Aragorn's attention was diverted by a most unusual, most disturbing sensation. A rough tongue and foul breath tickled his cheek followed by a huff and a nudge and the crunching of twigs under a stumping hoof.

"What the devil…" he muttered as he swiftly turned and swatted at the intruding creature as if it were a fly. But his eyes widened when he discovered the identity of his audacious paramour. 

"How in Middle Earth did you get here?!" Aragorn exclaimed. Thranduil's horse, Neila – the very one he had been riding – snorted and stamped its feet in response to Aragorn's rude welcome.  Considering how difficult it was for him and Legolas to climb down the cliff, Aragorn could not even begin to imagine how a horse, even one of Thranduil's impressive steeds, would make it down unless…

With a sudden queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, Aragorn leapt to his feet and peered past the chagrined horse.  When his suspicion was confirmed, the queasy feeling turned into downright nausea accompanied by a loud groan.  Had they run but a hundred meters to the left, they could have descended a gentle hill rather than fumbling down a steep, treacherous cliff. Though charred remains of trees blackened the peak of the hill, the rain had quenched the flames before they had a chance to move further down and Aragorn could see the vague divide between the scorched, black remains of the fire and the general darkness and shadow that suffocated the rest of Mirkwood. Indeed there was not much difference at all between the burnt and non-burnt trees except perhaps the nakedness of the stripped, scalded trunks. "Curse this wood!" Aragorn gritted as he turned angrily around and again laid his eyes on his injured companion. __

Angry at being so blatantly ignored by the human, the horse snorted and Aragorn frowned in annoyance. "Yes I know - you found a much better way down than we did. Congratulations," he grumbled sardonically. 

The horse shook its head and then peered curiously at Legolas as if noticing him for the first time.  With a soft snort, it bent down and gently prodded the flaxen head with its snout. When Legolas did not respond, the horse huffed and nudged him again a little more aggressively. Frustrated with the continued lack of response, the obstinate animal neighed and proceeded to lick the elf's cheek and forehead, at first tentatively, but growing more insistent as the elf still did not stir.    

Aragorn cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms as the horse, like a small toddler trying to get his parents' attention, continued to grow more frustrated and more persistent.  It whinnied and stamped its front hoof as it drew closer and closer to a full-blown tantrum. Though at first amused by this sight, worry began to tug at Aragorn's mind as Legolas continued to remain perfectly still in the wake of the horse's flaring aggravation and childlike temper. With one long stride, Aragorn moved beside the horse and dropped to his knees, running a hand over Legolas' forehead and grimacing at the slimy horse slobber coating the elf's pale, clammy skin. This act the horse did not approve of however and with a forceful nudge, it shoved Aragorn aside in order to continue its own relentless prodding. 

"Look, Neila, he is not waking up…" Aragorn began, but he stopped when Legolas stirred uncomfortably as the horse drew its warm, coarse tongue tantalizingly from his chin up to his forehead not missing his nose or eyelids as it did so. Encouraged by Legolas' faint movement, Neila grunted triumphantly and continued to fervently lick the elf's face.  Aragorn tried but failed to move beside the horse, and then in a farcical sort of tug-of-war, Aragorn continued to push the horse aside so that he could get a better look at Legolas only to be nudged aside himself by a powerful snout or sinewy leg.  Seemingly unaware of the conflict above him, Legolas continued to stir and groan as Aragorn and Neila fought for the so far non-existent attention of the elf. Finally, after much grunting and cursing from human and horse alike, Legolas' eyes fluttered open just as Aragorn received an especially powerful shove from the horse causing him to tumble out of the elf's sight. 

"Wha…" Legolas stuttered hoarsely, but he clamped his mouth and eyes shut as the horse resumed its affectionate licking and nudging.

"Good morning, beautiful," Aragorn muttered dryly as he sat up and again attempted to shove the horse out of the way. Legolas frowned at this greeting for in his muddled, foggy mind, he could not place Aragorn's voice or the rough tongue on his cheek.  The sickening hung-over sensation in his stomach certainly did not help matters either. _By the Valar! What situation have I gotten myself into now! _ 

Aragorn's lips bent into a small smirk when he saw the elf squirm uncomfortably, obviously disoriented and utterly unaware of what had happened, where he was or how he got here and what creature was now lovingly kissing his face. 

"It was a beautiful night... Such a shame you were not awake for it…" Aragorn could not help teasing as the horse snorted lightly and moved on to the elf's neck, drenching him in its sticky drool. Legolas' frown deepened as the horse sneezed in his face before moving on to lick and drench his ear in its dribble. 

"You certainly did wear yourself out though – slept nearly through the entire day!" Aragorn continued, his grin growing the more Legolas squirmed with uneasiness.

"You never do fail to surprise me Legolas…"

Suddenly, Legolas' eyes snapped open and the elf gasped in surprise at the snout inches away from his face. "A horse!" he yelped causing the horse to jump slightly and sneeze again in response, spraying Legolas with more drool.

"Aye! A horse!" the ranger chuckled lightly as he again attempted to push the stubborn animal aside.

"Aragorn?" Legolas closed his eyes again as the horse happily licked his brow and angrily kicked the ranger out of the way. 

"No, that's Neila. I'm Aragorn," the human could not resist joking. 

Legolas furrowed his brows and turned his head towards the ranger, cringing as the horse again drenched him in slobber. "Is there someone else here?" he asked when Aragorn's joke did not quite register properly in his baffled mind. _Neila__, neila… Is that one of Father's guards? Ai! I would not mind just going back to sleep!_

"Aye, there's the horse…" Aragorn answered wryly.

Legolas grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut again. His head ached and spun wildly preventing him from making any sense of anything or even wanting to try. __

"Then why do you tell me you are Aragorn? I know you are Aragorn." Legolas frowned and swatted at the irksome snout. "Ah yes, and _this_ is Neila… Aragorn, why must you confuse me like that? Are all humans so insipid that…" Before Legolas could continue with his irritated rant, pain ripped through his shoulder. "Ai Valar!" he finally cried in hopeless frustration.

"Peace Legolas!" Aragorn breathed as his grin evaporated and he finally succeeded in pushing aside the horse to get a better position beside the elf. "It is only Neila and I that are here right now. Do you not remember anything?" he asked gently as he carefully adjusted the makeshift sling around Legolas' shoulder. 

When only a groan answered him, Aragorn frowned and again ran his hand over the elf's cheek and forehead. 

"Do not strain yourself Legolas. You are injured rather badly, but it is nothing that will not heal. We are beside a lake now, at the bottom of this cliff. Remember? We were lost… we were searching for Bratherond… and the fire…"

"Aye, I do remember, though I almost wish I did not…" Legolas caught his breath and opened his bright eyes, staring straight into Aragorn's own gray orbs.  "We are lost now Aragorn aren't we?" This was not so much a question as a forlorn declaration.

Aragorn sighed and leaned back on his heels. "Aye, though not as bad as I thought we were. I can at least tell which way is east now," he muttered as he eyed the late afternoon sun's murky glow above them.

"But we are separated from the others," Legolas stated flatly. "We do not know where they are."  Aragorn detected the worry that tinged the elf's soft whisper and he gripped his hand in response. 

"I am sure they are fine Legolas. They would have escaped the fire."

"And the Orcs?" Legolas hissed, turning his fair head away from the ranger's eyes.

"And the Orcs…"

"And the storm, and this labyrinth, and the Nazgul, and this entire cursed, decrepit forest?" Legolas' voice rose in its frustration and doubt though he again had to stop as a bolt of searing pain burned his ribs. 

"Legolas, peace…" Aragorn ordered as he steadied the elf by lightly grabbing his shoulders and pushing him towards the ground. 

Legolas sighed angrily and struggled to lift himself.  Knowing he would refuse any instruction to remain still, Aragorn helped the elf to a sitting position.  After much fidgeting, Legolas finally situated himself in a somewhat painless position and he focused his clear eyes on their dreary surroundings. His listless gaze revealed no emotion until the horse shoved its snout in his face again suddenly reminding the elf of its presence.

"Aragorn! How on Middle Earth did Neila get here?" Legolas demanded as he pushed the snout out of his face.  Aragorn grimaced and motioned towards the hill, garnering no response from Legolas as he languidly laid his eyes on the gentle slope.  

"Ah, why does that not surprise me," he grumbled as he unconsciously rubbed his sore shoulder. 

Aragorn sighed and turned his gaze from the hill to Legolas. The elf remained impassive as he scanned the hill and rested his gaze on the blackened remains of the forest at its peak. 

"That fire certainly did some damage last night," Aragorn said as he tried to read Legolas' stoic expression. 

Legolas narrowed his eyes and at first did not respond to Aragorn as he mulled his words in his gradually clearing mind. Then as a shadow crossed over his features, he responded in a dark voice, uncharacteristic of the lighthearted elf Aragorn had first met in the outskirts of Thranduil's realm what seemed like ages ago, but in fact was only a little more than a week and a half ago. 

"The trees look better this way." 

Aragorn started slightly and peered closely at Legolas, as if trying to determine if it was in fact Legolas who spoke these words and not some other spirit that had taken over the form of Legolas. "You do not mean that…"

"Of course I do Aragorn. I would like to see this entire forest burn." Legolas' sharp eyes softened when they rested on Aragorn. With a small sigh, his gaze shifted from the concerned face of the ranger to the trees that had escaped the fire's wrath only to remain the gnarled monsters they had already grown into. 

"And then perhaps it can be reborn," he whispered. 

Aragorn leaned back again on his heels and studied the elf.  The words were desperate, but they were not without hope.  Legolas after all had grown up in a world that was slowly slipping away, but in a reality that only hinted at its demise. Though no stranger to pain and loss, only now that he traveled into the gaping depths of the shadow's hold, could he even begin to fathom the magnitude of what they were up against. The bitter taste of reality now forced Legolas to accept that it would take no small sacrifice to win back Greenwood. When faced with such foreboding darkness, many find they have not the strength to fight it, to make the ultimate sacrifice if called upon to do so.  Given the choice, Legolas would stay and with his own flaming arrows light the fire to his home if that is what it took to purge it of the suffocating evil, instead of leaving these woods to slowly wither away. And even after the fire, Legolas would wait for the day the smoke cleared and green saplings sprouted through the ashes.  Few would make such a choice. Few had the strength.

"What do we do now, Aragorn?" Legolas interrupted the ranger's thoughts. 

Aragorn pursed his lips and stood, pensively stroking the horse's mane. 

"Can we drink that water?" he asked in return.

Legolas frowned and gazed at the thick, black ooze that supposedly was a lake. "Nay, it is poison. We cannot drink any of the water in these parts of Mirkwood."

Aragorn sighed and rummaged through the pack that had been tied to Neila's back. "That is what I thought. We are lucky Neila found us since she was carrying at least this one canteen. I believe both of ours are nearly empty." Aragorn paused and watched as Legolas shook his canteen with a faint sense of bewilderment and wonder glowing in his eyes.  He had seen this same expression on his brothers' faces whenever they were faced with a dire situation that resulted not from some sensational battle, but something much more dull and tedious such as lack of food. He even had a name for it – the "I forgot we could die of such trite, common annoyances" look.  Mentally, he noted the stages of this young elven shock – first the bewildered realization. Then denial.

"Aragorn, there is plenty of water in here – surely it could last us many weeks. This should be the least of our concerns!" 

Aragorn sighed. Legolas may have been a dangerous warrior both in his physical ability and mental acuteness, but it was only natural for a young elf who had not yet the experience of older warriors to take for granted the basic necessities of life that even immortals could not live without. "It will last us a couple of days at best Legolas."

Then condescension. 

"Well, perhaps humans need more water then, for I find it hard to believe an elf could not make this last for at least a month."

Aragorn rolled his eyes – he could practically mouth these words as Legolas spoke them, so accustomed he was to such haughty remarks during stage three of this elven realization of lack of invincibility. "Then make it last for a month Legolas. For it may just take us that long to reach the Celduin"

Legolas froze and gaped at Aragorn. "We are to go east then?"

Aragorn carefully studied the horizon and noted the different ways in which they could travel around the lake before answering, "Aye, we will go east."

Legolas put down his canteen and continued to gape at Aragorn. "But what about the rest of them? Should we not look for them? We will just leave them!?"

Aragorn gazed grimly at Legolas. "Gandalf would have wanted us to continue east. In fact, he will expect us to. I would not be surprised if he led the others straight to Dol Guldur. If he comes to search for us, he will search to the east, Legolas, not where we came from. It is our best hope."

Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him and he gazed blankly at the lake and the forest beyond it. "But to not even try to find them…" 

"Legolas, we will not find them. We could not find Bratherond when he could not have wandered more than half a league away from us! They are long gone now mellonin and we have barely enough water to sustain us should we lose ourselves completely in our search. We have no other choice. We must make to the Celduin."

A gleam of remembrance lit Legolas' eyes when Aragorn mentioned Bratherond. "Do you think the others ever found him Aragorn?" he murmured softly. 

Aragorn looked down. The same thought had crossed his own mind – no one, not even Bratherond, could possibly survive very long by himself in Mirkwood. "We can only hope they did, Legolas," he finally answered.  Though he was not exactly fond of the surly elf, he hated to think of the terrible fate that awaited him should he remain lost in Mirkwood.

The two fell silent, lost in their own swirling thoughts. "Cièdron would have searched for me," Legolas whispered to himself, though Aragorn heard the words clearly.

"And Gandalf would have held him back," Aragorn reassured the elf. 

Legolas closed his eyes and murmured what sounded like an elvish prayer. When he opened them again, he stared determinedly at Aragorn. "We will go east then." 

Aragorn nodded and placed a firm hand on Legolas' shoulder. He frowned when the elf could not hold his gaze, dropping his blue eyes to the ground instead.  "Legolas?" Aragorn placed his other hand on his shoulder and tried to get the elf's attention, but instead Legolas slackened and again squeezed his eyes shut. 

"Legolas!" Aragorn said more firmly this time as he lightly shook his shoulders. 

"Ai, forgive me Aragorn," Legolas finally sighed. "I just wish I could somehow know they are ok." 

Aragorn paused before answering, waiting patiently for Legolas to meet his gaze. When the elf finally did look up again, Aragorn slowly stood and pulled Legolas up with him. 

"Do you really doubt their abilities so much Legolas?" Aragorn asked as he supported Legolas and motioned for the horse to come to their side. 

"Nay Aragorn, I just…"

"Then do not assume the worst when the worst is not even likely to have occurred." Aragorn continued as he indicated for Legolas to mount the horse. 

Legolas paused and looked dolefully at Neila. With a sinking heart, Aragorn realized his tactlessness – with his injuries, Legolas would have a difficult time mounting Neila, if he could at all, yet to put the elf in a position where he might have to admit this no doubt stung his pride.  But before Legolas had a chance to swallow his pride and ask for assistance, Neila lowered herself to her knees causing Aragorn to smirk and Legolas' lips to twitch with amusement.

"Well, if _you insist, Neila, how could I possibly say no?" Legolas chuckled as he gingerly climbed on to the horse's back.                              _

When Neila carefully resumed her full stance with Legolas steadily balanced on her back, Aragorn led the way around the simmering lake's borders, eyeing its festering surface with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.  Legolas shifted uneasily as he too noted the churning, inky waters. Again he rubbed his useless shoulder and apprehensively fingered his knife. 

"I think Mirkwood purposely hid that hill from us Aragorn," Legolas murmured as he nervously directed Neila away from the lapping shore. 

Aragorn's features hardened as he too stepped away from the sinister ripples drawing lines on the beige, sandy shore. 

"Aye. I wonder what else she is hiding from us."

* * *

_"Why must you go?" _

_"Cièdron, please, you must forgive me…"_

_Legolas__ sat quietly in his father's throne and watched his brother anxiously pace the room in great distress.  Beside him, a woman with an uncanny resemblance to the tall, willowy birch at her side stood as still and observant as a young deer watching for predators. Vivid gray-blue eyes followed Cièdron as he marched across the room, wrenching his hands then running them through his long silky hair, and then throwing them up in grief and frustration. Her own hands, adorned with delicate jewels and golden bands, were folded calmly in front of her.  Sorrow clouded her features and dimmed the light that her kind typically exuded. _

_She was thin. Nay, not just thin – frail like a porcelain skeleton draped with a pale sheet of skin.  Legolas feared that if he were to reach out to touch her, she would collapse into a pile of dust so tiny and fragile her bones seemed. As he glanced at her slender hands, Legolas also noticed how each ring had been moved to a different finger – the gold band embedded with rubies that she had normally worn on her index finger, she now wore on her thumb and what was on her ring finger had been moved to her index finger. One ring, which he supposed no longer fit even on her thumb, she had placed on a thin gold chain around her swan-like neck. Legolas would not be surprised if she collapsed from the weight of that ring.  Cièdron had not noticed the rings and would have to strain his mind to remember them when Legolas told him about it later that day. "I was too busy focusing on my own distress to even notice that my mother was wasting away!" he lamented when Legolas described them to him._

_Galeraen__ still did not move as her second youngest continued to pace and tremble._

_"Forgive you… Ai! I would that you stayed instead!" Cièdron cried desperately. "What are we to do? For us all to be separated like this… Is it not enough that two of us must leave for Mandos' Halls? And now you and Eilesiá will leave as well? Why can we not all remain together?"_

_Galeraen__ stiffened at this and her eyes despondently dropped to the floor. Upon seeing how his words stung his mother, Cièdron collapsed to his knees and dropped his head in his hands and the majestic throne room fell silent. Legolas straightened in his father's throne and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of his brother and mother sinking into despair, yet still he remained silent for his own grief strangled his voice. _

_As softly as a leaf floating on water, Galeraen walked over to Cièdron and gently lifted his chin with her gaunt, cold hand. Cièdron shuddered slightly. His mother's hands were always so warm and soft and the sudden iciness surprised him.  He cursed himself at that moment for being so cruel to her. 'She is dying,' he thought. 'And I am only making it harder for her.'_

_"Nana, I am sorry… it's just…that we must stay here without you…" _

_"Shh… Peace Cièdron," Galeraen whispered gently as she cupped his cheek and gently wiped away the tears with her thumb.  "No one is forcing you to stay."_

_Cièdron__ and Legolas froze at these words.  They had both just assumed their parents had expected them to stay as their duty to their father and __Greenwood__, as the only children left of King Thranduil. The idea that they too could leave with the rest of their kin had never even crossed their minds and now the invitation lay before them like a locked door that now opened wide to a peaceful, glowing land. _

_Cièdron__ could barely find his voice after this revelation. "We could go with you? But __Ada__…"_

_"Your father would understand Cièdron." Galeraen's voice was as melodious and soothing to Cièdron as the sea itself and he immediately became entranced in the implicit beckon to sail away from Mirkwood.  They had a chance to leave this forest! They could leave with their mother and escape this evil!  _

_Legolas__ gaped at his mother and brother. "You are not seriously considering this Cièdron, are you?!" he finally spoke, breaking the spell his mother had laid upon her son. _

_Cièdron's__ attention snapped to his brother. "But Legolas, what have we left here?"_

_"We have __Ada__! We have __Greenwood__!" Legolas cried in disbelief._

_"She is not __Greenwood__ anymore Legolas! She never will be!" _

_"You do not know that!"_

_Galeraen __straightened and squeezed Cièdron's shoulder. "My sons! Please, do not fight… not now, not on this day… I will not tell you that I prefer you to stay or sail with me, only that the option is yours and neither your father nor I will hold whatever decision you make against you." Galeraen _let go of Cièdron and moved gracefully to her other son. __

_Legolas__ avoided her eyes until he felt her icy hand upon his chin. Startled, he instinctively laid his own hand upon it and squeezed it tightly as if he could somehow transfer the warmth of his own body to the cold, fragile remains of his mother. _

_"Nana, your hands are so cold!" Legolas' voice broke as he said this as emotions came crashing over him like a tidal wave in the wake of his mother's dry, empty stare._

_Galeraen __smiled at her youngest son's attempts to warm her chilled hand and she laid her other hand on top of his to stop him. Tears welled in her eyes, but did not fall, when instead of giving up, Legolas laid his other hand on top of hers and desperately tried to rub some warmth into it before  holding it up to his cheek, where his own hot tears finally warmed those lifeless fingers and palm._

_"Legolas promise me you will not judge me so harshly. I am weak, my son, I know…"_

_"No… no, Nana, you are not…"_

_"I am Legolas. I am too weak for this world. I cannot live here any longer."  _

_"You should not have to stay here… you deserve better Nana…"_

_"I do not know what I deserve Legolas." Galeraen pulled away her hands and stared listlessly at what was left of them. She then laid them again on her son's shoulders and affectionately straightened his collar and wiped off specks of dirt that only a mother could see. "You have your grandfather's spirit Legolas," she finally whispered. "I know you will not come with me. I never expected that you would." _

_Galeraen__ backed away from Legolas just as Thranduil entered the room "Galeraen, it is time," he declared softly as his intense gaze fell upon each of his sons. Behind Thranduil, a tiny girl with eyes so dull and mournful she seemed more of an apparition than a real being, seemed to float into the room. Legolas' gazed sadly at what remained of his older sister._

_Cièdron__ slowly stood. "You will stay then Legolas?" _

_Thranduil__ stiffened at this question. Though he knew his sons would have to make this decision, he had secretly hoped perhaps they would not even think of it. The king's heart skipped a beat when Legolas finally answered. _

_"Aye, Cièdron. I will not leave," the king's youngest son said softly, his eyes never leaving his sister. Cièdron followed his brother's gaze and for the first time in months, he noticed a soft glimmer in his sister's eyes as Legolas answered._

_Cièdron's__ gaze lingered on Eilesiá for a moment before moving to his father and his mother.  His heart ripped at the sight of both of them. Such a choice lay before him now! How could he choose between going with his mother and staying with his father? His siblings in Valinor and his brother that would remain here, in Mirkwood?  He then looked again at Legolas, who sat tall and proud in his father's chair, appearing every bit the noble prince, yet all the same so young…. 'He would be so alone,' Ciedron thought and a flash of pain stung his heart when he noted the tears rolling down his brother's cheeks._

_"I will stay too then," Cièdron finally declared._

_Galeraen__ smiled faintly at her son's decision and Thranduil stiffly nodded his head. For the last time, the five of them stood in the pale, warm glow of Thranduil's hall.  Though Galeraen and Eilesiá physically appeared to be at death's door, their eyes both twinkled with pride and even some hope. Thranduil's hall may have only been an illusion of a dream that could not be, but a better world still awaited them and though their hearts bled, they knew they would all meet again soon._

_ Later, Thranduil, Cièdron, and Legolas watched as Galeraen and Eilesiá disappeared into the forest with a long line of woodelves, beneath silken banners and mournful songs, lighting the entire wood with their eerie, sorrowful glow. Cièdron would never forget that frosty glow and those chilled hands. Ever since that fateful day, they haunted him in both his conscious and unconscious dreams... _

"Cièdron!" 

Merionè shook Cièdron's shoulder in an attempt to get the elf's attention.  Cièdron snapped out of his reverie and confusedly looked at Merionè. 

"Cièdron! Are you alright?" Merionè asked, his soft, amicable voice laden with concern. 

Cièdron blinked a few times before his mind finally adjusted to the sudden disruption of his thoughts. The warm, pale glow of the throne room dissipated into the frigid, dismal fog of Mirkwood and the vivid memory of his mother's musical voice gave way to the rough demands of Bratherond, the worried drone of Merionè, and the distant, sinister howling of wargs and Orcs.

"Aye, I am fine," he mumbled as he shook Merionè's hand from his shoulder.  

Bratherond cleared his throat. "You certainly did not look fine Cièdron… Are you sure you are ok?"

"Aye, I was just thinking," Cièdron whispered.

"Of what?" Merionè instinctively reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder again, but drew it back slowly upon remembering Cièdron's frosty response a moment ago.

"Of my mother."

Bratherond and Merionè both fell silent at this. 

"And what she said to me and Legolas before she left," Cièdron continued. He looked up at the black, starving trees around him when suddenly a thought inexplicably entered his shadowed mind, driving out the lingering memories of his mother.

"That fire released them," he stated dully to the bafflement of Bratherond and Merionè. 

Merionè raised an eyebrow and followed Cièdron's gaze, "Released who, Cièdron?" 

"The trees. Ai! What are we doing? This whole forest should just burn." A strange expression flitted across the elf's features. "Don't you see? It is not us who will ultimately save it, it is the Valar.  They will burn it just like they sent Beleriand below the sea ages ago and then a new world will replace it. Only it will not be our world," Cièdron finally turned and met the alarmed gaze of Merionè. "We do not belong here."

Bratherond gave Merionè a sidelong glance and then rode next to Cièdron. "Cièdron, this _is our forest. Of course we belong here. It is not for the Valar to save for it was not they that lived here and cared for this forest. It was not they that ruled over her for thousands of years, who watched these trees grow, who made their home here amongst them!"_

Cièdron dropped his eyes. "But we have lost so much…" His voice was barely audible, but it was so laden with despair, neither Bratherond nor Merionè had the heart to respond. Their own stomachs twisted with worry for Legolas and Aragorn and they could not pretend even for Cièdron's sake that that they had not potentially lost as much as Cièdron feared. 

And so the three continued in a gloomy silence with no knowledge of the fates of their friends and kin, little hope in their own fates, and with the ever growing doubt that perhaps they did not belong in this world anymore - that perhaps they should have left years ago for the undying lands.  

Not surprisingly, it was Bratherond who brought the other two out of their melancholy trance when a tremor ripped through the trees. 

"Did you hear that?" he demanded, his voice scathing and harsh against their solemn thoughts.

Cièdron and Merionè snapped to attention. 

"Orcs." Merionè responded bleakly as the three mechanically armed themselves for battle.

The three elves barely had the strength or will to fight and their arms felt as heavy as iron as they languidly unsheathed their weapons. Bratherond gritted his teeth and quickly shut his eyes. When he reopened them, they were filled with the steely determination of one who would keep fighting through fires and storms, night after treacherous night. "Do not give up yet, Cièdron. The Valar are not here now and they cannot save us now."   

The Orcs descended upon them in an ambush.  Bratherond held off the brunt of the onslaught as the other two struggled against their own demons as well as the Orcs. 

Cièdron strove to regain his strength, but found it difficult to convince his disheartened mind to react to the battle around him. When Bratherond noted the young elf's listless fighting, he rode to his side and beheaded his attacker as he yelled, "Cièdron! What are you doing?! Will you allow these monsters to overcome you! Will you give in so easily to those that murdered your brothers!" 

Though this was not exactly true and both of them knew it, the words had the desired effect and the battle gradually inflamed Cièdron's anger and he thrust his sword into an Orc.  As the Orc reeled from the blow, he sniggered and caught Cièdron's eye. 

"So we murdered your brothers, eh? Hehehe… That must have been fun indeed. Better off dead anyway, those fools. Probably did not last long against us! Probably begged us for mercy! Probably offered to turn you in instead, such treacherous creatures you elves are…" 

The sniggering ended abruptly as the Orc's head was severed from his body. Cièdron's infamous temper had erupted and he mercilessly tore through the Orcs, ripping and severing already massacred limbs. Bratherond grinned at this as he too brutally pierced and stabbed one Orc after another.

Merionè however could not muster the same deadly strength. _Why do you even bother now? his mind taunted against all his efforts. Though he yelled furiously and tore against the Orcs, not one did he kill. Despite his concentration and his anger, his aims always missed, finding arms instead of necks, legs instead of heart. As Bratherond's and Cièdron's__  Orcs dropped like flies around them, Merionè's would get right back up and laugh in the elf's face as if they were giants flicking off the attacks of a hobbit. _By the Valar! What is wrong with me?!__

But despite the renewed efforts of Cièdron and Bratherond, they were also grossly outnumbered, and it was only a matter of time before the weakened elves were overwhelmed by the fierce Orcs.  Taken by surprise, Cièdron was violently knocked to the ground by the hilt of a sword against his head. As he squirmed against the throbbing pain that pounded his skull, the Orc leered mockingly above him. 

"Well, well! These have been strange days indeed!" the Orc laughed as he mercilessly kicked Cièdron in the side causing him to gasp in pain. "Another pretty elf!" He snickered some more as he again kicked Cièdron's side and ran his sword against his arm, drawing a deep cut. "Look at what we have here guys! This one looks just like that other!" 

Cièdron froze and gaped at the Orc. The Orc found this rather humorous and continued to taunt him. "That's right!  Tell me pretty elf! Do you have an equally pretty twin? Hehehehe… Oh he was a fun one, a fun one indeed…" 

"You're lying!" Cièdron yelled furiously as he struggled to swing out against the Orc. "YOU LIE!"  But the Orc only continued to laugh hysterically as he drunkenly kicked him again, relishing the feel of the elf's ribs cracking against his boot. 

Cièdron gasped and lurched. "No, no, no…" he repeated through the lump that gathered in his throat as the Orc continued to kick and beat him with the hilt of his sword. 

"I treated that one the same as I am treating you now!" the Orc laughed.  "Only I did more! And he screamed even louder! It was wonderful! Hehehe…"

In truth, this Orc had seen Legolas and Aragorn, but beyond that the Orc's tale ceased to be true.  He had been one of the Orcs that chased after Legolas and Aragorn, but he never even got close to laying a finger on either of them. Yet even Orcs are not completely bereft of all intelligence, and upon seeing an elf that resembled Legolas so closely that he had to have been a relative, he immediately took advantage of Cièdron's lack of knowledge about his brother's fate and the love all elves seemed to have for their kin.  This lie was probably the Orc's best weapon against Cièdron.__

Merionè meanwhile struggled to calm his own mind and focus on his battle. _Why do you fight? Just let them take you…You will be released then… _

"No!" he bellowed, but no amount of yelling could guide the elf's swings – it was as if something inside of him held him back and froze his arms when they swung to deliver their mortal blows.

Suddenly Merionè felt the tip of an Orc's sword against his neck. Defeated, he dropped his arms to his side and backed up, but the sword only pressed harder with each step back.  Relishing his victory, the Orc grinned and yelled triumphantly.  

"You fools! You cling to an unraveling rope and fight for an illusion! These woods are no longer yours!"

He then laughed terribly as he contemptuously held Merionè's gaze. "But you are the most foolish and delusional of them all!" the hideous creature whispered so that no one but Merionè could hear. He then leaned in so close Merionè gagged on its pestilent breath.

The Orc stared straight into Merionè's watery azure eyes and began to giggle frightfully as if he had just discovered a forbidden treasure in those two mournful depths. 

"Ah, yes, I know you elf." He continued to laugh as he drew his dagger tantalizingly across Merionè's neck.  The Orc stopped at the edge of his throat, and Merionè braced himself as he suddenly felt the sharp tip press into his skin, slowly drawing blood. "You cling to no rope at all, for you have long since cut yours!"

Then, to Merionè's surprise the sword stopped, leaving only a scratch on his neck. The Orc laughed terribly as he lowered his dagger. "I think I'll let you live!" 

He then turned to the others who were but seconds away from killing Bratherond and Cièdron. In the Black Speech, he yelled, "Leave them! There is no need for us to kill them!"  

Then he turned back to Merionè and with a wink, the Orc continued in the Black Speech, "They shall find their own doom without us."

Bratherond and Cièdron did not understand the Black Speech and they cringed, thinking it surely must be instructions to behead them. But when the Orcs grudgingly pulled away their swords they reeled in surprise. Bratherond, who had been standing, collapsed to his knees in relieved shock. Cièdron, who had been prone on the ground, raised himself to his knees and writhed in pain as he confusedly watched the Orcs reluctantly follow their captain, who continued to laugh terribly after ruthlessly kicking Merionè in the stomach and knocking him to the ground.

Panting, Bratherond stared in astonishment at Cièdron, and then allowed his gaze to linger on Merionè.  As he grasped his stomach, Merionè slowly rose to his knees and with a face contorted with pain, shock, and downright fear, he avoided Bratherond's questioning eyes. In silence, the three remained as such for several long minutes. The forest watched silently, as if she were actually relishing in the pain and confusion of the elves.  Though grateful to still have their heads attached to their necks, Bratherond and Cièdron were not so naïve to assume this had been a gesture of mercy on the part of the Orcs. Rather, foreboding descended upon them more powerful than ever like a sudden heavy veil. The captain's mocking laughter resonated in their ears and they suddenly felt as helpless and lost as ever, completely at the mercy of what they now fearfully realized was Sauron's forest.  The Orc was right – southern Mirkwood had long since been severed from the elves. They were no longer fighting to protect her. They were fighting to reclaim her. But until they did, they were nothing more than trespassers in an evil realm.

Bratherond gaped at Cièdron and Merionè and finally spoke. "What do you think he said?" 

Cièdron grimaced and shook his head unknowingly. "I do not know Bratherond, but I am willing to bet it was not an admission of defeat to us, or a friendly 'welcome to Mirkwood.'" His voice quavered as he fought against the lump in his throat and searing pain in his arm and ribs.  The Orc's words about Legolas echoed in his mind, yet he could not believe it. Or could he? _Ai, Valar, please let it be a lie! _

Bratherond snorted. "Welcome to Mirkwood indeed," he muttered. "I fear their mercy more than I fear their ruthlessness. For I know these creatures are not capable of mercy and if they let us go now, it is only because they have a much better way to kill us later!"

Stunned, Merionè raised his eyes to Bratherond and Cièdron. "You did not understand what they said?" he breathed in surprise. 

Silence ensued for a moment as Bratherond and Cièdron looked confusedly at Merionè.  Bratherond raised his eyebrows and studied Merionè closely, before he replied carefully, "Nay Merionè, we did not hear the Orc captain's words."  He then narrowed his eyes and held Merionè's gaze steadily. "Did you?" 

Merionè gaped at Bratherond and opened his mouth to reply, but then changed his mind and returned his gaze to the ground.  Bratherond's eyes widened and in a sudden movement he leapt at Merionè and grabbed the elf's shoulders. 

"You understood him! You understood the Black Speech! How?? How did you understand him? What did he say Merionè?!" 

Merionè closed his eyes as his mind spun and lurched and nausea overtook him. _The Black Speech?!__ He did not even realize the Orc had switched over from the common tongue to its own black tongue, as he had understood all his words so naturally. __Nay, this must be a ruse! This cannot be! Then I have been wrong! Ai, I have been terribly wrong!  Suddenly his thoughts came in the laps of waves and the cries of seagulls.  __I was wrong… I was wrong..._

"Do not go on," he finally whispered, completely forgetting Bratherond's questions. 

"What!?" Bratherond stuttered in surprise. 

Suddenly, Merionè's eyes snapped open and he violently shook off Bratherond before jumping to his feet.

"Do not go on!" he cried to the two other elves. "This is a mistake! This was all a terrible mistake! I was wrong! You cannot go on! Leave these woods! Leave and go home to King Thranduil! Tell him the warriors are doomed and have always been doomed! Tell him Sauron will attack! He will attack with forces from the East and if he can he will attack from within through his lies and treachery! Tell him I was wrong!" 

Bratherond gaped at Merionè. "By the Valar Merionè! You are not making any sense at all!" 

Merionè closed his eyes again as he strove to push out the seagulls and ocean breezes in order to focus his panicking mind. "Tell him Sauron and his followers never truly release their prisoners."

Cièdron remained deathly still and quiet as Bratherond shook his head and repeated, "You are not making sense Merionè... You want to return? So soon? You would give up so easily?" 

"Nay! I will not return! I cannot return." Merionè stared sadly at the ground which seemed to switch from dark moss to soft sand. "Forgive me, Bratherond, Prince Cièdron. I have made a terrible mistake. You both must go back. I will go on alone." 

"We will not go back!!" Bratherond yelled suddenly as he jumped to his feet. "Have you gone mad, Merionè?! I will not allow you to go on alone and we will not give up so early!"

Merionè gazed fearfully at Bratherond, "Nay, Bratherond you do not understand…."

Bratherond's steely eyes flashed with determination. "What did the Orc say, Merionè?" he demanded. 

Merionè paused before answering firmly, "He said we shall find our own doom." 

Bratherond considered this for a moment, mulling the words over like an empty threat. "Aye, well, that is perhaps what they would think. They are so confident in their control of Dol Guldur and of our weakness to the Nazgul! Well, we shall prove them wrong. We will go on. We cannot allow such words to frighten us!"

Cièdron, who had been watching the two elves fearfully, finally stirred. "Nay, Bratherond, I do not believe that is what the Orc meant," he murmured as his gaze rested on Merionè.  Bratherond's attention snapped towards Cièdron who with trembling hands, fingered and toyed with Legolas' knife. 

"Bratherond is right..." Cièdron whispered shakily. "We will go with you Merionè. You shall not suffer this alone." 

Merionè gaped at Cièdron. "No, please, I beg of you…"

"Do not beg anything of me Merionè!" Cièdron bellowed suddenly. He gripped Legolas' knife and raised his head, laying his eyes resolutely on Merionè.  Merionè stiffened as he found himself the object of the gaze not of a frightened, young elf, but of a proud prince who had inherited his father's fortitude and sense of duty. Not knowing what had suddenly come over Cièdron, he staggered slightly in the wake of his order, almost believing for a second it was Thranduil's voice he had heard. "Prince Cièdron, please, this is folly, you do not understand…"

"Haven't I already told you, do not call me 'prince'?" Cièdron scolded quietly as he stood unsteadily and sheathed his brother's knife. "There will be no more discussion of it Merionè. I understand you perfectly." 

Cièdron looked straight into Merionè's eyes. "As Bratherond said, we will not give up so easily. They think we will find our own doom? Then so it shall be. We will find it. Mayhap we will find theirs as well."

**TBC**

**Yay****! I finally finished! And now to catch up on the million of fanfics that have been updated during this past month of hell, I mean, *ahem*, law school… **

**Alexa****: I'm sorry for the delay! I guess I underestimated the amount of free time I'd have. Yeah, I think it's safe to say those three are in trouble…Thank you so much for the review!**

**Dot: Thank you so much! I think I was in a weird mood when I was writing all those similes. A little too much wine perhaps?**

**Ecri****: Thank you! I'm glad that chapter worked & had someone's heart beating fast! ;)**

**Elven**** Ice Angel: Thank you! I'm never quite sure if I can do angst… I'm glad you enjoyed it! **

**Fliewatuet****: Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it so far!           **

**Gwyn****: Errr…. yeah, apparently I was kidding about 2-3 weeks…. (eek)**

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**KAKYU33: Yes I hate cliffies also. Well, except when I'm the one writing them. **

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**Pernauriel****: I am continuing… slowly, yes, but I am…**

**RainyDayz****: "I won't be happy if you don't post soon" *tereza looks guiltily at the calendar & the last update date on her story* Oh my… time certainly does fly… I hope you're not too unhappy with me!**

**Randomramblings****: I like that name… thanks for the review!**

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**Smile the Great: awww, Bratherond's not *that* bad…. Ah well, that's ok that you hate him ;) I have to say, it is rather fun throwing Legolas off a cliff. **

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**Symian****: I'm finding it very hard to find nice places to end… I don't think I will in fact until I'm done with this story! And even then it may not be a nice ending…**

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**Thundera**** Tiger: Thank you! Please, don't apologize! I understand completely as I barely have time anymore even to keep up with my reading, let alone reviewing!  As always, your reviews are a pleasure to read and I appreciate it very much. **

**Viktoreja**** Rose:  Umm… did I say 2-3 weeks? Oh hahhaha, silly me… isn't that funny how time just flies by? *tereza slinks carefully away…***

**WeasleyTwinsLover****: Yes, I hate school as well. Hopefully the first month has not been too bad for you!**


	15. Delirium

Can it be?? Oh my goodness… An update! 

**Chapter 15:  Delirium**

* * * *

_"Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, that is quite an aim you have, young elfling. Tell me, how long have you been practicing?"_

_ "As long as you have been sitting there on that stump, tormenting these trees with that smoke of yours, Master Wizard!"_

_Mithrandir chuckled merrily at the wide eyed elfling. It had been many long years since he had last visited the elven realm of Mirkwood in order to pay his respects to the King and Queen as they celebrated the birth of their sixth (and 'Valar willing, the last,' as Thranduil had often proclaimed) child.  It seemed but a blink of an eye since that joyous day in the woodland realm, and now, here was yet another charmingly blithe (though not without sadness), annoyingly mischievous (and often enigmatic), and naturally proud (though humble before the wonders of Middle Earth) young elfling prince. _

_ "No, no, I meant for how many years have you had lessons? Before this one?" Mithrandir clarified for the child archer._

_Legolas__ blinked at the wizard and furrowed his smooth brow as he pondered this question. "It is as I said, Master Wizard, I have practiced for as long as you have been sitting there on your stump with your pipe."_

_Mithrandir's sparkling grey eyes peered at the young elfling as he slowly lowered his pipe. "You mean to tell me that was the first time you have ever shot an arrow?" _

_Legolas__ shrugged as he turned to gather his arrows. "Aye, I have not yet started my lessons, I'm afraid. Otherwise perhaps, all of my shots would have made their marks. But I have watched my brothers enough to see how it is done." _

_Mithrandir gaped at the prince. "But they did all meet their marks!" _

_ "Nay, this one should have hit the acorn…"_

_The wizard raised his eyebrows, wondering if perhaps the wood elf was playing games with him as wood elves often did to their own delight. "The acorn??" he repeated carefully._

_Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, the young elf lifted his bow and shot the arrow he had just picked up into what appeared to be empty space between two trees. Mithrandir continued to gape at the elf before his eyes wandered to where the arrow had fallen. Slowly, disbelievingly, the wizard walked over to the arrow and lifted it. A single acorn was lodged firmly on its point like a kebab. _

_Legolas__ grinned and hopped towards the wizard. "Ah! Five for five then! That is much better!"_

_ "By Elbereth…." Mithrandir breathed as he slowly handed the arrow to the cheerful elfling. The wizard had spent much time with the elves of Middle Earth, thoroughly enraptured by their wisdom, grace, and talent, and making notes of who he may one day turn to for help in battles yet to come. During his visits to Mirkwood, he had focused on the woodland king's older sons and warriors and had paid little attention to Thranduil's rascally youngest. _

_"It is always where you least expect it…." Mithrandir mumbled to himself as he smiled and placed a warm hand on the small elf's shoulder "Legolas of Mirkwood, I believe I will one day have a task for you and that aim of yours."_

* * * *

As his horse dashed through the thick, dank forest, Gandalf's mind wandered from distant, happier memories to his current warring emotions. He knew he should not have left them.  His mind screamed of a veiled danger, it forewarned of treachery, of something terribly amiss – tragically, perhaps even fatally amiss! As soon as he made the decision, he wondered if he had chosen correctly or if perhaps he had made a terrible mistake. He even considered turning his horse around and galloping straight back to those he abandoned. Alas that a wizard has not the power to be in two places at once! 

The premonition was so great, like gathering clouds before a storm that Gandalf had to stop under the weight of his conscience. With a grating elvish shout, the wizard ordered his horse to stop in its tracks, bringing the speeding landscape of soggy, burnt trees and cindered ground to a halting stop. 

As he shut his eyes in a meditative search for an answer, he slowly turned the horse around to gaze upon the path behind him – the path to Dol Guldur where Bratherond, Merionè and Cièdron were currently headed.  When the wizard opened his gray eyes, he contemplated the path ahead and began to mutter under his breath. 

"I have abandoned them…" he whispered with the utmost despair, his heart ripping as the words in all their mortal truth became as real and as hopeless as the forest he rode through. "Ai, what have I done…" Gandalf again shut his eyes and when he despondently opened them again, he ordered his horse to slowly begin to back track. 

"I was to go with them. I was to see for myself the troubles and evil at Dol Guldur. They cannot go without me. They do not know what they face," Gandalf continued to mutter as his horse reluctantly tread down the path from which they came.

And then he stopped. 

"No, no, no, no…We cannot leave Aragorn and Legolas either without knowing their fates," Gandalf mumbled to his baffled horse. "What would I tell them if I returned without news of them? Ai, what would I tell myself?"  _I believe I will one day have a task for you and that aim of yours. _Gandalf mouthed the words as he remembered them and he wondered if Legolas remembered them. Most certainly he did, as elvish memories spanned the ages like everlasting photographs, from the emotions they felt to the promises they made – and those that were made to them.  "Ah, yes, I certainly did mean that, but I did not mean to abandon you on your first mission in a forest fire!"

Gandalf's horse neighed and shook its head, growing impatient with the wizard's indecisiveness, but Gandalf paid no attention as he once again closed his eyes and muttered under his breath.

The choice now lay before Gandalf in all its unconscionable, hideous, mocking glory as if it had been offered by Sauron himself.  His instincts flared with warning for one party, yet his mind logically worried about the unknown fate of another.  But should he listen to his inchoate, implacable, yet uncanny instincts or the dependable logic of his mind? Or his heart? _Ai! But my heart yearns to go in both directions! _

Gandalf stared ahead as he discussed the matter with himself and the horse who tried to hurry the dithering wizard with stamping and snorting, but to no avail. 

"I should go to whoever needs me more. Yes of course, that is only logical." 

But which talented, accomplished warriors needed Gandalf more? Thranduil's top warriors who proudly held thousands of years of experience under their belts? Or the man so respected for his heritage, and proven in his skill as a ranger, that he has been ordained the 'one hope for Middle Earth' with a companion who would not miss a target even if presented to him on the tip of a single hair of a runaway warg in the pits of the unlit mines of Moria? _Or an acorn falling out of a tree.___

"Well, obviously we must consider their situations…" Gandalf tried to reason. The horse neighed in response and Gandalf could have sworn he sensed a tinge of sarcasm in the animal's snorts.

_Aye, of course_.  _Their situations… The horse and trees laughed at the wizard for this just brought him right back to where he started! He did not know their situations except that neither seemed very promising – and therein lay the problem to begin with! Two cursed journeys and yet he could only guide one. _

No, it could not be decided which party needed him more, for whether due to his instincts or simple logic, it was undeniable both were in desperate need of help.  Alas, that only left one other way to decide.

"Who do I need more?" 

The words were so surreal in their coldness, Gandalf wondered if they were even his.  He uttered them slowly, as if the cruelty of them weighed upon his tongue as much as it weighed upon his soul. There could be no denying who the most tragic loss would be for the fate of Middle Earth. _Aye, but does that make the others' lives any less valuable?_

No. No one could measure the value of a life. Should the fortuitous birth of one into a bloodline of kings make his life any more valuable than another? What about those who devoted their lives to fighting for Middle Earth? Should their past sacrifices be deemed less worthy than the potential future sacrifices that may help Middle Earth? _But what is past is past…_

Gandalf shuddered at these thoughts, for they barely felt human in their cold calculations. 

_And what would Thranduil say? _

At this Gandalf dropped his head in despair for this last realization made it all the more cruel, all the more heartbreaking.  It was not only two groups of warriors he had to choose between – it was two sons.  As he slowly shook his head, he thought of Thranduil's reaction when he first arrived in Mirkwood - the pain in the King's eyes at the mere possibility of having to let go of his youngest… and then the fateful decision to allow both of them to leave. 

"And what would he say, Gandalf, if he knew of this decision you now must make? Ai, Elbereth, what would he say? How would a father make such a choice?" Gandalf sighed sadly as he turned his frustrated horse around once again, ready to continue his search for Aragorn and Legolas.

"He would curse you for ever setting foot in his palace, that is what he would do. Curse you for intruding upon his home, his family…nay, what is left of his family and taking them away like this!" Gandalf murmured. "Ai, Valar, please let my instincts be wrong. May the Istari's senses be mistaken just this once. Please, Elbereth, guide them, watch over them or send me something, anything, to help them! I know not what my heart yells of, but I know more is amiss than I even realized!" __

With a mournful sigh, Gandalf ordered his horse to break into a steady trot. _The Valar would perhaps have been wise to not equip the Istari with a heart.  And then my job would not be so difficult. _

Had Gandalf's foresight been as clear and perfect as anyone's hindsight, he would see that his incorruptible heart would be the one quality that separated him from the other Istari and that for all the pain and suffering it endured, it would ultimately provide the greatest hope to those who bore the burden of sacrifice. It would perhaps be the only light that would sustain the strength of others – the strength that was necessary to save Middle Earth.

But for now, the old wizard's heart trembled with remorse and his own sense of helplessness.  "I fear the Istari are not as strong as elves, humans, dwarves and hobbits believe us to be," Gandalf sighed. "Mayhap Saruman the White will live up to their expectations, for I know not if I can."

Suddenly the sound of hooves caught Gandalf's attention. Like the rain that fell a short while before, killing the fire, the soft clatter on the mossy ground buoyed the doleful Istari.  "It is them! Ai, Valar, it is them! Ah, then my prayers have not fallen on deaf ears!" Gandalf cried happily as he ordered his horse into a gallop towards the approaching hooves. "I can turn back then. Aye, once I know they are ok, I can turn back..."  He ignored the doubt that gnawed at the back of his mind as he remembered his swift encounter with Legolas' horse during the fire. Surely, this time the horse had found the two and they rode towards them now. Surely, Legolas would have wanted to come in this direction in search of his brother. Surely it had to be them! 

Though Gandalf noted with a sinking heart the hooves of only one horse sounded through the forest, he did not allow that to dampen his hope.  It only meant that one horse had gotten lost and the two rode together after all! Or perhaps one was injured…. Or perhaps lost.. or…. 

"No!" Gandalf shook the thought from his head. They were fine! They were on their way now! In any moment he would see the worn, dirtied face of the future king and the stubborn young prince….

One horse broke through the shadows and halted with a soft whinny in front of Gandalf.  Gandalf's face dropped as he took in the soot covered creature in front of him with only Legolas' spare canteen hanging limply from its neck. 

"You again! Alas you horses do not remain with your masters!" Gandalf cried despairingly.

The horse neighed, looking quite insulted by the wizard's accusation.  Gandalf frowned and stroked its long neck. "Forgive me, I know you are as concerned as I am…."

As Gandalf absentmindedly stroked Legolas' horse, he suddenly had an idea that caused him to stop and swiftly reach into his robes where he pulled out a small parchment.  After some fussing about, and the muttering of elvish curses, he pulled out a broken quill as well.  Grumbling as he realized he had no ink or berries to write with, he finally decided to make the best of the wet, black soot and mud that covered the ground. Tossing aside the quill, he used his fingers to scribble a message on the parchment.

"I want you to bring this to Thranduil. Do you understand? This _must_ reach Thranduil as soon as possible – for his son's sake. For all of our sakes!" Gandalf ordered as he tied the parchment to the same string on which Legolas' spare canteen hung. With some hesitation he considered the elven container, still mostly full with water – as elven canteens almost always were.  The wizard sighed and shook his head as he imagined Thranduil emerging from his palace to find his youngest son's horse gallop up to him with no son, just his  untouched canteen to greet his aching heart. 

"Forgive me Thranduil for sending you such pain. But I fear it is your other son's only hope." 

After making sure the parchment was securely tied to the horse, Gandalf again begged her to travel with all the speed given to her by the Valar and then sent her off. He watched as the horse disappeared into the shadows and then remounted his own steed. 

"And now it is our turn to fly! Aragorn and Legolas await us!" Heartened by the wizard's sudden firm decisiveness, his horse leapt to its hind legs and broke into a swift gallop sending up black dust, leaves and twigs in its wake.  __

* * *

A great sigh broke the chilling silence and a wispy breeze greeted the ranger and elf as they reentered the wood.  Aragorn glanced surreptitiously at Legolas who stared ahead dejectedly as the horse beneath him carefully trudged through soggy leaves and broken twigs.  Behind them the gaping, oily lake lurched and gurgled ominously and Aragorn could not decide whether he was relieved to be leaving it behind or fearful of what awaited them now.

_What is it Gandalf has in store for us? _Aragorn frowned as he pondered the old wizard's enigmatic plans and orders.  Aragorn knew Gandalf did not reveal even half of the ideas that fermented beneath the grey hair and floppy, preposterous hat. He knew it since the first day they had met…

            "_Estel__ of Imladris, so we meet at last. I reckon we will have many meetings hence, though this will be my last meeting with Estel.  Many names you will know, but only one were you born with, and only one will you die with."_

"Aye, but which one?" Aragorn murmured under his breath as his foggy mind slowly crept back into the dreary present.   Next to him, the elf shifted slightly, his keen ears picking up Aragorn's soft words and he turned curiously towards the ranger.  Aragorn ignored the questioning eyes however, too lost in the memories and questions that inundated his mind.  Sensing the human's reticence and too exhausted to fight it, Legolas did not press him for an explanation but instead turned limply around and lowered his eyes to the dark path ahead. Then, a sudden change of heart compelled the elf to respond to Aragorn's silent musings as if the silence all at once became too much to bear.

"You are thinking of Mithrandir aren't you," Legolas stated simply. 

Aragorn started slightly, but his surprise ebbed rapidly - Legolas was an elf after all. Young though he may be, that did not mean he was bereft of the intrinsic perception capable of reading into the most subtle of human emotions. 

"I do not worry for him, if that is what you mean. Out of all of us, it is the old man who is most likely to come out of here alive." Aragorn answered "The forest will not have expected him."

"Nay, no one expects Mithrandir. He would not be what he is if he could be expected."

Araogorn nodded and grimly studied Legolas for a moment.  The sprightly prince had deteriorated into a broken, crestfallen shadow of himself.   His glowing eyes lay embedded in dark circles emphasized by his ghostly, pale gray skin.  Slumped shoulders replaced the proud, regal posture the graceful elf always assumed.  Even his cornhusk hair took on a stiff, straw-like texture, dull as the color of wheat as it limply fell in a long, loose ponytail.  Though his physical injuries were by no means insignificant, Aragorn had little doubt that fear, worry and grief – for Mirkwood, for his home, for his brother – were what drained the elf of his stamina and buoyancy. 

"Legolas, tell me, how did you first meet Gandalf?" Aragorn suddenly asked partly out of a sincere curiosity, partly to pull Legolas out of his somber mood, and partly to distract himself from the gnawing fear that tingled his spine as the trees and creatures leered ominously at them.

Legolas cocked an eyebrow and stared peculiarly at the ranger. "Is that what has your mind so distracted now Master Human?" he replied as a sad smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Ah, you humans, always wondering about the past. I can tell you how I first met Mithrandir, but what would be far more interesting is how I will last meet Mithrandir!"

"I care not for fortune telling," Aragorn returned. A rustling of branches interrupted the ranger and spooked Legolas' horse, causing the creature to lurch suddenly. In a flurry of elvish, Aragorn steadied the creature as his eyes darted to the source of the rustling. Legolas grimaced, but otherwise hid the pain that shot through his body from the horse's sudden movement as he too scanned their surroundings.  Instinctively, he tried to reach behind for his bow only to remember Aragorn had taken it in order to relieve his back of some weight. _You fool – you need two arms to shoot anyway! With a sigh, he reached for Merionè's knife instead, only to notice that the weapon lay sheathed on the side of his injured arm, not the side he reached for. With a mental note to bring two knives next time, he awkwardly reached to his injured side for the knife._

These somewhat fumbled motions still retained the fluidity and quickness of an elf, but Aragorn noticed the falters and hesitations nonetheless. The ranger quickly averted his eyes, knowing his concerned stare would only sting Legolas' already wounded pride.

"I fear I should have a bit of trouble should we run into anymore Orcs tonight Aragorn," Legolas sighed as he tightened his fist around his knife, only to drearily notice that the rustling came from a black, scurrying squirrel that quickly and quietly disappeared back from where it came. 

Aragorn glanced at the statue-like trees that had only a moment before mocked their injuries with their threats and snickers. 

"I do not doubt your capabilities, Legolas.  You may have one less useful arm, but you will fight with twice the strength in your other one. Just do not strain yourself now when there is not yet a need to mellonin."

"_Strain_? Nay Aragorn, you are wrong! I am not straining myself at all!"_ Legolas feigned a relaxed, light demeanor as he subtly steered his horse away from the approaching ranger, whose worried eyes noticed the elf unconsciously massage his side after returning his knife to its sheath. _

"Anyway, in response to your distaste for fortune telling - it is not fortune telling I speak of. For all we know, we have both met Mithrandir for the last time, in which case we will be talking about the past, just as you prefer!" Legolas' attempt to revive their previous conversation failed in its purpose to distract Aragorn from his injuries.  Rather, the ranger ordered the horse to stop so that he could more closely examine Legolas' arm and ribs.  But as soon as the ranger lightly laid a hand on Legolas, the elf jerked away and ordered the horse to continue.

Aragorn groaned with irritation. "Legolas, please allow me to…"

"I do not remember when I first met Mithrandir, for I believe I was quite young, even by your standards," Legolas smoothly continued. Aragorn sighed, but did not yet concede his defeat. As Legolas spoke, the ranger once again ordered Neila to stop.  And with flashing eyes, Legolas once again defied the ranger by ordering the horse to continue as he proceeded with his tale.

"The gray pilgrim… that is what my father called him and that is how I always knew him.  He did not come much by our woods, but when he did, he carried with him a wizard's tools- firecrackers, riddles and gadgets which my brothers and I would fight over.  I once had a bet with Cièdron that I could create images as lovely as Mithrandir's using those firecrackers.  Alas though, I never even made it out of my father's halls before they were somehow set off!  To this day I do not know how that happened, though I suspect it was Cièdron…" Legolas smiled distantly at the memory as his voice trailed off. 

Aragorn's lips twitched with amusement at this, but he did not let up in his effort to examine Legolas and thus he gently ordered the horse to stop again. Though she neighed with frustration, the loyal creature did as she was told.

"Nay, Neila do not stop," Legolas ordered. With pursed lips the elf gently prodded the horse, but amazingly she chose to ignore the prince and listen to the ranger who continued to speak softly to her in elvish.

"She is an intelligent creature indeed," Aragorn murmured as he tried again to take a closer look at Legolas' injuries.  Understanding what the ranger was trying to do and as much worried about her rider as he was, Neila lowered herself to her knees against Legolas' continued protests so that Aragorn could more easily look over the elf's injuries. For a moment Aragorn feared the elf would leap away and he would have to chase him like a child playing tag.  The ranger had already learned the hard way that it is impossible to win in tag against an elf after many exhausting, futile chases of his own wily brothers. _And they are not even wood elves! At least I only had to chase them on solid ground! _Inanely, for a split second Aragorn wondered how his brothers would fare against Legolas in such a game – they may be swift on the ground, but how well could they flit through the highest branches?

Aragorn quickly pushed these silly thoughts out of his head and carefully, as if reaching out to a scared animal who may flee at any moment, laid a hand on the elf's shoulder, relieved when Legolas showed no signs of attempting to jump up and run. 

"I only wish to make sure you are healing properly Legolas – it will not bode well for either of us if you do not regain use of your shoulder soon." Aragorn patiently dropped to his knees and adjusted the makeshift cast as he spoke. He bit his lip to stop himself from responding to Legolas' grimace at the ranger's light touch, knowing any questions as to whether he was hurting him would only further upset the agitated prince.  

Legolas glared at the human as he continued to prod and examine his injuries. "This is completely unnecessary Aragorn," he grumbled as he twitched uncomfortably. Aragorn ignored these complaints as he tightened the cast, again having to bite his lip when Legolas hissed softly and shut his eyes from the pain.  "Is this what it is like to be human then? To be so sore for so long after the initial injury?" he murmured unthinkingly, not even realizing his admission of pain.

"We feel exaggerated physical pain just as you feel exaggerated grief, I suppose," Aragorn answered. "But it is more worrisome I think to see an elf feeling the physical pain of humans than to see a human suffer the acute emotional awareness that the elves are capable of."

Legolas smiled wryly. "Do not worry for me Aragorn. And do not underestimate the burden of nonphysical suffering."

As Aragorn finished, his eyes met Legolas'.  "I do not," he responded firmly as he rose to his feet. Neila followed, and after a soft command from the ranger, they continued their slow hike through the darkening woods.  The silence was palpable and Aragorn quickly grew uneasy as his ears picked up the distant, strange stirrings and calls of the creatures of Mirkwood.  Despite his earlier words, deep down Aragorn knew they could not survive an onslaught the way they had earlier – any pain Legolas admitted to now would have to multiplied by ten in order to get the true measure of the elf's suffering. The fact that he admitted to any soreness at all worried the ranger.  

"I can feel the grief of these trees," Aragorn whispered suddenly, slightly surprised at the sudden awakening of the elvish blood within his veins.  Indeed, the stirrings and calls now sounded like the moans and wails of a creature slowly wasting away and begging to finally be released.  A sudden dread that could only be described as the grasp of Death himself inexplicably overcame the human and for the first time in his long life, he felt the awful tenuousness of his own mortality, as if he were the one wasting away, trapped in a dying body. 

"Then you finally know Mirkwood," Legolas whispered.  Aragorn did not hear this nor did he notice as the elf suddenly tensed, his eyes lighting up with alarm.

He did not notice because an oppressive weight fell heavily upon Aragorn's mind with the force and unexpectedness of a fierce desert storm. The wails and moans grew in their intensity and Aragorn could not tell whether they were real or the product of nightmares within his mind. 

"Legolas! What is happening?!?" Aragorn cried as he fell to his knees, writhing from the sudden terrible screeching. Like an icy razor or a scolding sword, Aragorn's head exploded in fierce pain as the forest spun around him. 

No human could survive Mirkwood for half as long as Aragorn already had even if he never once crossed paths with an Orc or warg, for he would lose himself to insanity from the darkness and suffering surrounding him.  Aragorn knew this and as he grabbed his aching head, he wondered if he too had hit the breaking point. Grief, death, mourning and torment crushed his mind and ripped through his body. Unable to think clearly enough to rationalize the abrupt mental anguish that attacked him, Aragorn assumed it to be a terrible dream – he had been so weary, perhaps he had somehow drifted off…

"Nay! I am awake now!" he gritted. "I am awake, but this cannot be real! It cannot!"  Aragorn cried. He did not, could not, see Legolas leap from his horse and tumble to the ground with a loud thud.  The elf then rose to his feet, against all the pain that seized his own body, and called out to Aragorn. 

Suddenly the icy pain shot from Aragorn's head to his chest and limbs until his whole body froze with the ghastly chill.  But the chill did not come from within as Aragorn originally thought. As goosebumps formed on his flesh and his teeth involuntarily began to chatter, he realized with growing horror that the moans and wails were not in his head and this was not a dream at all.  Legolas' distant cries gradually registered in his tormented mind and his heart clenched in fear. 

Aragorn struggled to his feet and supported himself on Legolas who now stood frozen in fright, his knuckles bright white as he gripped tightly to his knife. With great struggle against the piercing pain in his head, Aragorn unsheathed his sword and shakily raised it against an invisible enemy.

"It is the wraiths! They are here Aragorn!" Legolas voice quavered frightfully as his eyes darted from tree to tree.  A powerful wind carried the wails and shook the trees as it blinded the ranger and elf with a whirlwind of dirt and leaves. 

Aragorn held tightly to the elf's arm as if the two would be forever separated if he dared to let go. With sudden alarm he glimpsed at a shiny object at their feet and realized Legolas had dropped his knife.  Still holding tightly to the elf's arm Aragorn clumsily fell to his knees in an effort to reach the knife. Though he did not pull hard on the elf, Legolas' weakness overcame him and he too fell to the ground.  Their hair and capes whipped wildly, adding to the confusion as they tried to figure out which way was up, where they were facing, anything at all as their minds and stomachs reeled and lurched from the frostiness and spinning. Aragorn shook the elf and placed the knife back in his hand, closing his fist around it as he did so. He fought desperately against the nausea and deliriousness that overcame him.  __

"Get up! Get up Legolas!" Aragorn yelled through the whipping chill that pricked his face with a thousand needles as he struggled to get to his own feet. "You must stand!"

With help from the ranger, Legolas raised himself, feeling as if he had drowned in a deep, frozen sea and was now trying to rise against it.  He desperately strained his eyes and ears against the suffocating winds and shrill cries. For what seemed like an eternity, the two stood, wondering perhaps if they had already died and were now no more than spirits trapped in some sort of hell – perhaps the hell of their own insanity.  The world spun and the trees wavered in drunken ripples and leaves blurrily rained down and up, though Aragorn thought perhaps they were the ones falling – falling up through the sky, or down into the earth, spinning and wavering, freezing and burning, aging and dying all at once, in one endless dream…. 

And then it stopped.

Time stood still and the earth froze. For all either of them knew two minutes, two hours, or two centuries had passed as they stood breathless and trembling. The wood resumed its portrait like stillness and the wails dissipated to light scuttles and deep groans.  Even the iciness ebbed, leaving behind a fearful numbness. Though Aragorn's head spun so wildly he thought for sure he would black out, it was Legolas who first crumbled into a trembling, silver heap on the dingy moss covered ground. 

Aragorn too fell to his knees and placed a quivering hand on the elf's back.  He tried to speak, but his throat would not let his voice escape, as if it still feared it would be lost forever in the terrible gusts that had just passed. Legolas' own soft, hoarse voice barely reached Aragorn and the muffled words failed to connect in his recovering mind.  

"Legolas? I cannot hear you…" Aragorn finally managed to gasp.  The elf hugged himself with his uninjured arm and his head hung limply towards the ground.  Aragorn tried to get Legolas to raise his head, but the elf resisted, though he continued to speak. Only then did Aragorn realize he was speaking rapidly in elvish. 

"Aragorn, why did they not come? Why did they leave?"

Aragorn struggled to calm his racing heart and heavy breathing as he slowly processed the distressed question. _Did they leave? Is it true that we live?  He gulped and shut his eyes in an attempt to make sense of it all.  They were alive. They had not even seen the perpetrators of this fleeting hell. __Perhaps they will come back? Aragorn cupped his pounding forehead. _Perhaps they are here now, watching us. _Aragorn's head snapped up at this thought and against his body's pleas, he got up and anxiously scanned their surroundings. _

Nothing. Just the trees, the bramble, and the same blinking eyes that had been watching them ever since they first entered Mirkwood ages ago. _Did they dream this? Did anything happen at all? The nausea slowly subsided and Aragorn placed a trembling hand on one of the trees, fully expecting it to fall straight through. He staggered slightly at the hard, rough surface and pulled his hand back. _Nay it is not a dream… This is all real. __

"Aragorn?" 

Aragorn turned towards the distressed voice. Legolas now gaped up at him, a strange light glowing in the otherwise vacant eyes.  "Aragorn, it was them. Why did they leave?" he repeated in elvish.

Aragorn continued to search their surroundings, unable to comprehend what had just happened. 

"I do not know Legolas," he finally breathed, frustrated that he now felt as helpless as a child lost at sea, completely at the mercy of the Valar. _Only we do not even have them now! Nay we are at the mercy of Sauron himself!  "Perhaps they never meant to attack us in the first place…." Aragorn tried to reason. "Perhaps that was not wraiths at all – perhaps this is all part of our imagination… Or part of Mirkwood…"_

"This is how they died," Legolas interrupted, his voice distant and weak.

Aragorn fell silent and glanced confusedly at the elf.  

"This is how they died, Aragorn," he repeated in elvish. "This is what it was like for them before they died." Legolas shut his eyes as the image of his brothers' terrible final moments came vividly alive in his mind and his body. He trembled from the glimpse into the insanity that his brothers felt nearly a thousand years ago and in a fitful attempt to quell the sudden nausea that twisted his stomach he began to whisper a string of elvish prayers, rocking ever so slightly.  Aragorn stood silently for a few moments, unable to say anything that may put the elf at peace. _He is falling also. _

"We must keep moving Legolas," Aragorn finally ordered, his voice gentle and tinged with remorse as he struggled to harden his heart to the elf's grief. They had to continue. Now more than ever, it was vital that they reach the end of these woods. If they gave in now to grief and fear, they would never survive.  The wraiths would return. Even worth, their insanity would grow. 

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut and the string of barely coherent elvish halted.  

"We have to move on Legolas. I do not know where they are or why they left us, but I do know we cannot stay here," Aragorn continued, feeling the need to justify his seemingly cruel command to keep moving. He then whistled gently and worriedly searched for Neila who had run off in fright during the attack. 

Legolas slowly raised himself and steadied his trembling as he strove to match Aragorn's calm, strong poise.  With every last ounce of strength, he fought off the demonic images and distant moans that haunted his mind.  Aragorn started slightly at the sudden hardened gaze Legolas fixed on him, fully expecting to have to drag Legolas up and force him to continue. With a nod the ranger sheathed his sword and motioned for Legolas to follow him. 

"Valar willing, we will not have farther to go," the human murmured before whistling again for Neila. 

Legolas remained silent as he followed the ranger.  Aragorn slowed his pace so that he could remain at Legolas' side, ready to catch him or shield him at a moment's notice.  Though the chill had left, Aragorn could sense the sporadic shudders that shook the elf, though Legolas stoically revealed naught of his fright or anxiety.

"I barely knew my brothers," Legolas said suddenly as he broke his stoicism and laid sad eyes upon the ranger. "We had all of eternity ahead of us.  Little did we know only a season would pass before our paths were torn apart.  It is easy to take the ones nearest to you for granted. Yet their pain haunts me now more than ever." Legolas again shuddered slightly as he spoke.  

Aragorn grimly pursed his lips, feeling utterly helpless and wishing with all his heart that Gandalf was still with them with his sagely comfort and reasoning. _ I cannot give him the reassurance he needs because I can barely assure myself that all will be well! A great leader I am indeed. He suffers and all I can tell him is to keep moving, that everything will be ok. I offer nothing more than false hope to one too clever to believe it. _

Legolas deftly read the ranger's battling emotions and sighed. "Forgive me Aragorn, I am afraid I am not as strong as you are, but do not worry yourself for me and do not feel you must comfort me. I will be ok." 

As the remainder of the day passed, the stifling darkness of night slowly descended upon the two. They hopelessly pressed on, all too aware of the blinking eyes watching them, disappearing and reappearing like brooding fireflies. They kept their minds occupied anyway possible, sometimes singing, sometimes talking idly, sometimes merely imagining they were anywhere but here. But nothing they did could fight off the frightful delirium that swelled in their anxious minds.  Aragorn fingered his sword and glanced worriedly at his companion. _I am not nearly as strong as you seem to think, my friend.  _

A cool breeze shook the trees causing small dark leaves to flutter lightly to the ground like snowflakes. Yet for the two travelers, they may as well have been meteors for the slightest rustle or hint of chilled air caused each to tense and anxiously grip their weapons.  

Aragorn warily scanned the dark trees and bramble and Legolas stood frightfully still, poised for attack. 

"Nothing," Aragorn whispered, never removing his eyes from the shadowy woods. Legolas nodded stiffly, though he did not sheath his knife.

But just as they were about to move on, another, stronger breeze tossed more leaves to the ground and caused more branches to laugh menacingly.  Again the two froze, immobile from the fear that gripped their hearts and minds.  Only their own heavy breathing broke the terrible silence, yet both would have sworn that they heard the cries of the wraiths and the moans of their victims riding on the light breezes, which to them were the heralds of a deadly tempest. 

Aragorn shook his head against his growing insanity. "We cannot continue like this Legolas," he murmured. "It was a breeze, nothing mo…"

A gust interrupted Aragorn and he jumped back and whipped out his sword as Legolas spun around, so that the two stood back to back.  For several long moments they stood silently, neither daring to say a word when a small movement caught Aragorn's attention. Slowly, the ranger approached the trees, striving to get a closer look. Legolas turned and fearfully followed Aragorn's gaze as the ranger stealthily crept towards the movement.  Suddenly the brambles violently shook and Aragorn raised his sword, ready to attack whatever creature dared to jump out, wraith, warg, Orc, or perhaps a new demon, a more horrible, more deadly….

"Neila!" Aragorn gasped as their horse leapt through the trees, neighing excitedly at having found her masters. Aragorn gaped at the horse, stunned not so much at her sudden appearance, but at his own paranoia and inability to tell that it was only a horse that awaited them beyond the trembling bramble. 

"Ai, we are our own worst enemies now," the ranger spat in frustration as he angrily sheathed his sword. "By Elbereth, we are nothing more than…"

"By Elbereth!" 

As if he had suddenly been cured of all his injuries, anguish and weariness, the elf leapt forward and sprinted past Aragorn to the spot from which the horse had just leapt through.  Aragorn turned in surprise just as Legolas disappeared through the bramble. 

"Aragorn! Did you see that!? Did you see?! The moon! The moon! " the elf called happily over his shoulder.  

Instead of answering, Aragorn broke into a sprint, following Legolas through the bramble and trees, which slowly began to thin out as a soft glow trickled through the shadows. He could not see Legolas, but he heard the elf's gasp and a moment later the trees, bramble and shadows disappeared.  The ranger stopped, barely believing his eyes. 

Elbereth herself seemed to have reached down to pull back Mirkwood's dreary, oppressive curtains to reveal the barren fields of the Eastern Lands. Aragorn straightened and caught his breath.   A wave of fresh air washed over them, carrying away in her tides the ghastly fog and deathly stench of the wooded graveyard from which the human and elf emerged.  The ranger strained his eyes, searching to no avail, for an end to the vast undulating sea of nothingness, a russet colored blanket shrouded with dancing shadows from the wispy, translucent clouds above it through which a full moon shone. 

Like phosphorescence, Legolas' features brightened in the glow of the moon and a sudden inner light.  His eyes darted rapidly from one direction to the next, glittering with wonder and curiosity.  Perhaps this was the one time when both human and elven eyes beheld the same image and Legolas too now searched for an end that would never appear.  Or perhaps his elven eyes perceived lands and images Aragorn could not even fathom.  

"Aragorn, look!" Legolas suddenly breathed as he turned his head towards the sky. "I have never seen the moon so large and the stars so close. It is as if I could reach out and steal them from Elbereth!"

Aragorn gazed upwards at the night sky and for a moment it seemed Elbereth had taken his voice away as well. Never in all his travels, had he seen a sky quite like this.  He suddenly felt as if they had wandered into a land from many ages past when the earth was new and untouched by humans or elves and the stars radiated with the fresh glow of a newborn galaxy yet to face the mournful fading of years to come.  Perhaps they had finally gone insane, lost themselves to their delirium. Nothing seemed real anymore and like eyes adjusting to sudden light, Aragorn's mind slowly had to adjust to the lifting of darkness. 

"The Eastern lands…" Aragorn murmured. "Where the Valar first traveled to Middle Earth and few men have traveled to since."

 "Where the first elves were sundered…" Legolas turned to Aragorn, his features suddenly alive with anticipation. "I had forgotten that such beauty remained in Middle Earth! I have wondered often about the lands beyond Mirkwood. Is there anywhere else with a sky such as this Aragorn?" The prince paused for a moment as he turned again to the wasteland ahead of them. "What do you suppose we will find out there Aragorn?"

Aragorn paused before responding, calmly reflecting on the nothingness stretched out before them. "An empty land and the remnants of ancient peoples unfamiliar to us, yet related to us all the same. What the Valar left behind."

Legolas nodded slowly as he continued to search the lands and sky for whatever it is that elves search for when they can see even beyond the horizon. "I wonder if this is what the sea is like," he murmured.

"I do not know what the sea is like for your kind Legolas," Aragorn answered softly.

Legolas' searching gaze relaxed and focused languidly ahead of them, as if he were imagining a great ship floating upon the land sailing farther than his own eyes could see.  

"Nor do I."   

* * * *

"More wine, my King?"

Thranduil snorted softly and gently placed his empty goblet on the table. 

"Yes, that is the answer, I suppose. I could always drink my worries away…" he muttered. 

Käriler arched an eyebrow, unsure of whether this meant 'yes' or 'no.' When the King did not elaborate, he opted for the former and carefully lifted the elegantly carved wine bottle, ready to fill the goblet with the sweet purple elixir. But before a drop could drizzle from its smooth neck, Thranduil gracefully laid a hand above his goblet, indicating for Käriler to stop.

"Nay Käriler, I will not have anymore." Thranduil furrowed his brows and gazed listlessly at the mossy ground as his deep voice resonated throughout the vacant room. With his sons gone, the palace had fallen eerily quiet.  He never realized how much life they brought to this fading elven abode through their fighting and playfulness. What had often irritated him to the point of frustration in the past now haunted his mind in dreams and wake. 

"Isn't it funny Käriler…" Thranduil whispered with a sad smirk. Käriler looked up hesitantly, unsure of how to respond to his King's darkened mood. 

"I..I'm sorry, my King… What is funny?" Käriler answered reluctantly. 

Thranduil lifted his smoky blue eyes, tumultuous in their infinite stormy depths. "When my father died, I was alone in this wood with nothing more than a dream to turn all of Greenwood into a spectacular elven kingdom that would rival even the fair woods of Imladris and Lorien.  A kingdom the Sindarin elves could call their home, amongst these trees…these beautiful trees – trees such as I have never seen before Käriler!" 

Thranduil's voice trembled as he spoke, a quality that frightened Käriler for never before had he heard even the slightest tremble in Thranduil's powerful voice. Thranduil sighed and dropped his gaze again. 

"And then I would have a family, Käriler. A beautiful wife and beautiful children who would one day rule their own sections of Greenwood, or perhaps other realms in Middle Earth… Ithilien perhaps."

"And I did have it all Käriler! By some miracle, the Valar gave me the most beautiful wife in all of Middle Earth and the most beautiful children…" the tremble in Thranduil's voice rose to a choke preventing the King from finishing.

"And that is the funny thing Käriler. That I had it all and I have managed to lose it."

Thranduil slipped off one of his rings and distractedly fingered it, feeling its smooth, cool surface. 

Käriler gazed sadly at Thranduil. "They will come back Thranduil."

"But they will not be the same Käriler. They never will. Such times will not allow them to be. Did you see how quickly Legolas latched onto Aragorn?"

Käriler frowned, slightly confused by this slight change in direction. "Aye they did seem to get on quite well…"

"We are fading Käriler. The elves are fading as the world around us falls into despair, but not Legolas. It is only natural that he would latch on to what glimmer of hope remains in Middle Earth, but he will pay dearly for it. Very dearly."

Käriler paused. "Aye. But be grateful it is sons you have had my lord, for rumor has it the daughter of Lord Elrond has fallen in love with the son of Arathorn. I do not think any pain can match that which she will one day feel."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at this. "Is this true Käriler? Ai! My heart feels for Lord Elrond then indeed!" 

"And what about Prince Cièdron, my lord?"

Thranduil fell silent and became as still as stone. "He has been slipping from this world for many years now. I can see it in his eyes. Legolas has kept him here, but I do not believe even he could sustain the hope in Cièdron's soul for much longer." Thranduil again lapsed into silence before whispering so softly his voice was like the sigh of a breeze. 

"I should not have let him go."

**TBC**


	16. The Eastern Lands

**Happy Holidays!**

**Disclaimer:  **Sigh, not mine…. 

**Chapter 16  The Eastern Lands **

_*scratch scratch scratch….*  _

_*tap*_

_*scratch scratch scratch….*  _

_*tap*_

_*scratch scratch scratch….*  _

_*tap*_

_*scratch scratch scratch….scratch…..scratch…….*_

Cièdron and Merionè dully watched as Bratherond methodically sharpened the tips of each of his arrows and then lightly tapped the point with a small rock.  There was absolutely no point to this final tapping – in fact, there really was no point in the sharpening either - but it was a superstitious habit the elf now harbored for thousands of years and as his nerves tightened and coiled, the scratch and tap focused his mind and relaxed his senses.

It had been three days since Gandalf left the three elves. They had encountered no new adventures since their fight with the band of Orcs and thus spent the long days silently traveling and the long nights silently sitting cross legged around a fire, too anxious to sleep, too gloomy to talk, and too accustomed to the eerie moans and watchful eyes of Mirkwood to pay much attention to their surroundings either. Thus Bratherond busied himself with his idle sharpening and Merionè and Cièdron busied themselves by idly watching Bratherond's idle sharpening. 

_*scratch scratch scratch….scratch…..scratch…….scraaaatch*_

*THUD*

All eyes stared curiously at Cièdron who had just inexplicably lifted a large rock and pounded it forcefully on the ground.  Cièdron looked up and shrugged. 

"I was waiting for the tap. I couldn't wait any longer," he drearily explained.

Merionè nodded and Bratherond raised an eyebrow, clearly baffled by the other two elves' interest in his sharpening. The warrior elf listlessly tapped the arrow and put it away.  Having come to the end of his arrows, he put them away and sat silently for a few moments, gazing first at Cièdron, then at Merionè, then back at Cièdron, and then at the yellow eyes, and back at Cièdron.  Finally with a sigh he gazed at his own hands. 

"I think I shall miss those eyes when we finally get out of here," Bratherond muttered. 

"Mmm…Yeah…." The other elves responded lamely. 

Bratherond gazed again at the yellow eyes peeking out of the dark shadows in the hissing, flickering light of the fire and he twiddled his thumbs. "I think there's a new pair tonight…." 

The elf's voice trailed off as again the other elves responded with half hearted "yeahs" and "mmmm's." Bratherond sat quietly for a few more moments and finally decided to take out the arrows he already worked on and start the whole sharpening process again.

Cièdron, clearly irked by this, sighed and pounded his own rock simultaneously with Bratherond's *taps.* 

_*scratch scratch scratch….*  _

_*_THUD_*_

Merionè involuntarily nodded his head and tapped his fingers in unison with the rhythmic drumbeat of taps and thuds. Even the eyes seemed to blink and move together with the tapping.  Indeed, the entire forest swayed and moved with the elves' cadenced tapping and thudding until Cièdron could not stand it any more. 

"Is there a reason, Bratherond, that you sharpen the same arrows every night?" the elf prince finally asked, haughtiness tracing his light voice. 

Bratherond cleared his throat. "To keep my arrows sharp," he answered bluntly, matching the prince's arrogance as he continued with his religious-like process of sharpening and tapping.

"But there will be nothing left of those tips for you will whittle them all away!" Cièdron cried. "And I fear your tapping and scratching will be stuck in my mind until the next age! Ai, everything I do will be in unison with it!"

Bratherond calmly continued with his sharpening, unaffected by the younger elf's apparent dismay about the state of his arrow tips or the rhythms to be singed into his mind for ages to come. "Look Master _Prince,_" he began, sarcasm lacing his gruff voice, "First of all, none of us will probably make it to the next age. And as soon as you figure out a better way to keep these arrows sharp, let me know, and we will have your father pass an ordinance that all of his warriors shall follow."

Cièdron gaped at the elf. "But, Bratherond, they are _elvish__ arrows! What elf ever sharpens his arrows?! Why, it is like eating ten lembas biscuits!"_

Bratherond frowned, but still did not let up in his mechanical sharpening. "I have been sharpening my arrows for 3,589 years Cièdron. Do you think I care that they are elvish?" 

"3,689," Merionè corrected. Bratherond and Cièdron now turned to the third elf who continued to tap his fingers in unison with the sharpening. 

Bratherond furrowed his brows. "Nay, Merionè, 3,589."

Merionè sighed and enunciated each word as he spoke. "For 3,689 years you have been sharpening those blasted arrows Bratherond. Believe me, I _know. Three thousand _six_ hundred eighty nine long years…"_

Bratherond placed down his arrows and began counting on his hand, mumbling the years as he did so. "That is rather odd, I could have sworn it had been 3,589…"

Cièdron raised his eyebrows and watched disbelievingly as Bratherond continued to mumble and count the years.

"Ah yes! You are right Merionè! It has been 3,689. Well then, in that case, Master Prince, I have been doing this for 3,689 years.  All the more reason not to give an Orc's foot whether these arrows are elvish or not."

_*scratch scratch scratch….*  _

_*tap*_

Cièdron dropped his rock with an agitated thud. "Yes, I suppose so…" 

Unable to stand the incessant scratching and tapping, the elf prince gracefully moved away from the fire and leaned against one of the gnarled skeletal trees, gazing straight at the blinking yellow eyes as if daring them to attack.  He had not told the others about his encounter with the Orc and what the Orc had said to him as it mercilessly kicked and beat him though it haunted his mind to the point where he thought he may very well go insane. Each additional day in Mirkwood brought on more dizziness, more hallucinations, and more weight on the young elf's shoulders. Chills raced up his spine and through his body and he often wondered if he would ever wake should he allow himself to sleep. 

_Tell me pretty elf! Do you have an equally pretty twin? Oh he was a fun one, a fun one indeed…_

Cièdron shuddered.  It could not be true! Nay, Legolas would not be much fun at all for an Orc.  Valar knew, Cièdron suffered plenty in his fights with his brother – any Orc that met Legolas would not have a fun time at all! Therefore, it could not be true. No, any Orc that fought his brother would not have the strength to beat Cièdron later the way that Orc had… if it lived at all… 

Unless Legolas was injured. Ai, if the Orc had met his brother, then why was it still alive?! Legolas should have killed it! 

Cièdron stiffened at this thought and punched the tree in his frustration.  The movement however caused a fiery sting to race through his side and the elf doubled over in pain, grasping his wounded side and gasping for breath. 

"Cièdron," a soft voice murmured. Merionè had followed the elf and now stood at his side, gently supporting him as he gagged and fell to his knees. 

"Cièdron, dear Elbereth…" Merionè whispered as he slowly removed Cièdron's hand from his wound.  It was the same wound Cièdron received from the first warg attack days ago. Though it had mostly healed, the fight with the Orcs had agitated it and it had reopened, causing it to bleed on and off ever since. 

As Merionè removed the hand his eyes widened at the crimson, sticky liquid that moistened the elf's side. "Ai, Cièdron… You must let me look at this." 

"It is nothing Merionè. It bleeds for a while and then it stops. It will stop again soon," Cièdron breathed as he leaned back against the tree. 

"But it should have healed completely." Merionè gently removed his cape and ripped off a section to press against the wound. "It is your heart that will not allow it to heal Cièdron. You do not wish it to, and thus it will not." 

Cièdron turned and peered closely at Merionè. Then with a sigh, he looked away. "You are an enigma Merionè. You speak to me of wounds that will not heal because I will not allow them to, yet you spend your days in troubled dreams, never allowing yourself to be relieved of whatever it is that haunts you. I have watched you Merionè. You suffer." 

"My suffering is my own business, Cièdron," Merionè answered curtly. "I will be relieved of it soon, I assure you." 

The older elf placed a cold hand on Cièdron's cheek and turned the pale face towards him. "You do look an awful lot like Legolas.  I have never really noticed before…"

Cièdron wrinkled his brow, wondering what Merionè was getting at. Had he heard the Orc taunt him about his brother? Or was it just a coincidence that both brought up their similarities? Merionè certainly did seem to hear and know more than he let on to. 

Merionè leaned in close to Cièdron and held the elf's gaze for several long moments. Cièdron nearly shuddered at the frozen blue eyes that gazed back at him. The light in them had gone, leaving two vacant holes, deep, icy, and opaque.  He started when he noticed he could not see himself in those eyes for they reflected nothing, not inner or outer light. _Ai! What is happening to him!?_

"You would know if he was dead, Cièdron," Merionè finally spoke, his soft voice low and matter-of-fact, barely even rising above the hiss of the fire or Bratherond's scratching and tapping. 

Cièdron staggered. "What?" he whispered, his eyes widening ever so slightly as his entire body froze. 

Merionè pressed against the wound even harder and repeated, "You would know if he was dead Cièdron. Your love is too strong for you not to know. Do not underestimate the bonds that can form between elves.  Our physical beings mean nothing.  It matters not whether Legolas is beside you or a thousand miles away. If he suffered you would know and he will know if you suffer. If he dies, you will know. And so shall he if you should. We are not such simple beings, young prince. The Valar have given us more than you know."

Merionè leaned back and smirked slightly. "Trust me. I have fought and traveled this earth for many years!" He laughed sadly at this and continued, "I have seen many an elf sundered from his loved one suffer as they suffered. I have been across the sea and have seen the elves there suffer for those they left behind. I have seen it all, Cièdron."

Cièdron remained silent for several long moments, taking in everything that Merionè had just said.  The other elf continued to press against the wound and examine it carefully when suddenly a violent shudder shook his body. 

"Merionè! Are you ok?" Cièdron asked as Merionè abruptly pulled away. 

A stunned look haunted Merionè's eyes and the elf rapidly stood and backed away from Cièdron. 

"Merionè?" Cièdron asked again, confused and even a little frightened by the elf's sudden strange actions. Merionè shivered again and shook his head as if trying to free it from some evil thought or dream. 

"Nothing… It is nothing, Cièdron. You should rest." Merionè shook his head again and retreated back to the fire.

Cièdron cocked an eyebrow at this and leaned back again against the tree.

"I fear we will all lose our minds before this is done," he muttered as he pressed the ripped cape against his wound and searched the yellow eyes for the new pair Bratherond spoke of while also counting the old ones to make sure they were all present tonight. 

"We're getting to know each other quite well now, aren't we?" Cièdron snorted and stretched his long legs in front of him comfortably. "Aye, I think I would be rather lonely without all of you watching me…"

In response, the eyes continued to move about and blink, seemingly disturbed that they no longer held the same fearful power over the elf as when he first entered Mirkwood and froze before those eyes. 

"Besides," Cièdron continued softly, "You heard what he said. If you attack me, Legolas will know and you would have quite a bit to deal with later on. Trust me, he's a feisty one when he's mad."

A gruff voice behind him interrupted Cièdron's one sided conversation with the eyes. 

"We should move on."

Cièdron gaped at Bratherond who was fingering his sword anxiously and scanning their surroundings with growing concern. "But Bratherond, it is the middle of the night!  We ought to rest until morning, don't you think?"

Bratherond dropped his hard gaze to Cièdron and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when his eyes fell on Cièdron's side. His tense features softened considerably and he let out a small sigh. 

"Aye, Cièdron, I do think we ought to rest. You especially….But I do not like the feel of this place…"

"Did you ever like the feel of it?" Cièdron interrupted.

Bratherond ignored this and continued. "I cannot place it, but something is not right… All I know is that my mind screams to leave. Now."

Cièdron frowned and returned to his original position against the tree. Carefully, the elf removed the fabric from his wound and folded it into his belt.  A chill breeze suddenly shook the trees and a shiver danced down his spine. A sudden weight fell on his mind as the trees slowly began to sway and blur… 

Bratherond too felt it and he bent down next to Cièdron. "It is Dol Guldur," he whispered. "The closer we get, the worse it will get. But as long as we know what it is, we can fight it. Those who do not know it often fall to insanity. They think it is their minds, or the wraiths – and perhaps it is. I do not know enough about those beings to say for sure. But whatever you do, do not let yourself give in to the blackness that calls you."

Bratherond straightened and turned towards Merionè who stared languidly at the ground.  Whatever evil it was that burdened Bratherond and Cièdron and laid siege to their minds had no affect on him, though he had felt it the last time he traveled to these areas several months ago. Bratherond grimly noted Merionè's calm, but did not say a word about it.

"Come Cièdron." 

Bratherond helped the prince to his feet, taking note of the wound as he did so. 

"You are too stubborn for your own good, son of Thranduil," Bratherond said as he gazed worriedly at the wound. "We will deal with this at our next stop."

Cièdron's eyes flashed and he pushed Bratherond off of him. "It is nothing! Leave me be, Bratherond." 

He knew the elf did not mean any harm, yet Cièdron still could not get over his dislike for Bratherond. The story of his brothers haunted him. _Had it not been for him, they'd still be alive. Cièdron shook his head of the thought. __Nay, you cannot think of that now! But as much as the prince tried, he could not completely push the memory out of his mind… the memory of that fateful day when his sister ran into the throne room…_

Shaking off any help from the others, Cièdron mounted his horse and followed the flickering light of Bratherond's torch through the cavernous forest.  Again, he turned towards the eyes, watching them as they watched him.  They twinkled and laughed at him and soon began to flutter ominously causing a wave of dizziness to wash over Cièdron. The elf began to shiver uncontrollably and as nausea overtook him, he forced himself to look away from the eyes.  As his shivering grew in its intensity, the elf doubled over and gripped tightly to his horse.  Looking down, he focused instead on a tiny purple stain that colored the tip of his felt boot and he wondered where the stain had come from – certainly he had come across no grapes or berries in Mirkwood. Another spell of dizziness claimed his mind before he had a chance to think back beyond his travels in the dark wood and remember the bright purple toes that were underneath that boot.  

The night swiveled and Cièdron had to use every last ounce of strength to control the vertigo that pulled on him and called to him like a siren. Finally, just when he thought he may tumble off of his horse, Bratherond ordered everyone to halt. 

"It is still with me," he sighed as he anxiously eyed the trees around him. "But I suppose no matter where we go now, the shadow in my mind will remain as long as we are within the grasp of Dol Guldur. We shall rest here for the rest of the night." 

Cièdron nodded, but did not respond.  The nausea ebbed, but the weariness did not. As he dismounted, Bratherond placed a hand on his shoulder, ignoring Cièdron's slight recoil. 

"Sleep Cièdron. Merionè and I will keep watch tonight." 

Though his eyes hardened, Cièdron nodded and slid down against a tree where he drifted off into troubled elven dreams. But before long, the elf found himself slipping in and out of his dreams as he picked up bits and pieces of a hushed fight that had erupted between Bratherond and Merionè. Though at first nothing made sense, he was soon able to tie the words together and his dreams receded as he fully awoke to a far worse nightmare. 

"Nay, Merionè, I am not going anywhere! You said it yourself – for 3,689 years we have traveled together.  Do you really expect me to abandon you now?!" Bratherond hissed.

Some shuffling of feet as the other elf fitfully paced around the fire preceded his answer. "Bratherond, did you not hear me?! I _swore an oath_. I did not intend to keep it, but _he_ does, Bratherond. He does! I cannot escape it!" 

"How do you know that Merionè!? There are many who lightly swear oaths... Perhaps you did escape it…." 

The shuffling of feet stopped and only the crackling of the fire remained. "How do you think I understood the Black Speech!?!"

Bratherond shook his head despairingly, "I do not know – you were always rather good at figuring out riddles… It just, it cannot be… your heart did not swear it, only your words…Words are nothing, Merionè!" 

Merionè grabbed Bratherond and shook him gently, "Bratherond, you of all people should know that words are not _nothing." There was a long pause before Merionè whispered softly, "I can feel him gain control over me.  As much as I try to fight it, I can feel myself slipping away. I felt him before when I was with Cièdron, Bratherond! I had never felt him so strongly grip me… Ai! It frightened me!" _

Bratherond continued to shake his head. "Then we will all go back!" he insisted, forgetting all past promises to Mithrandir and Thranduil as his concern for his companion's well being overtook his mind.  For too long they had fought together, defending their wood and their King whom they loved and would easily give their lives for.  Though Bratherond never said it, he had developed an unfaltering respect for Merionè as the elf bravely sacrificed his one true love – the sea – in order to serve Thranduil.  Merionè also was one of the few warriors who knew of Bratherond's greatest vulnerability – his guilt over the fates of the King's sons. _I should have gone with him. Ai! Why did I not go with him?! He does not deserve this! I deserve it more than he! _ 

Merionè sighed, "I already told you, I cannot go back."

Bratherond's eyes flashed wildly and his voice began to rise above the controlled hiss. "Yes you can! Of course you can! We will all go back and we will help you! Mithrandir will know what to do!"

Merionè's voice too rose above a hiss and he cried, "Bratherond, I betrayed Thranduil!"

"He will understand! You had no choice… you had to, you were tricked… You have served him loyally for centuries…He will help you, he will summon Lord Elrond, Lady Galadrial, he will find a way…" 

Bratherond trailed off as Merionè gazed at him, eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. "Nay, Bratherond, you do not understand.  If I go back, _he will go with me. If I am let into Thranduil's palace, _he _will be let into the palace.  If I am left alone with Thranduil, _he _will be alone with Thranduil.  It is what he wants. He wants me to go back.  He is begging me to go back. Ai! He is torturing me to go back!"_

"But we will be with you - I know now, and so I will not allow you to be alone with Thranduil until you are released….And we will be able to release you! I am sure of it!" Bratherond's voice trembled and his own eyes widened as he slowly came to realize Merionè's deteriorating state.

Merionè shook his head. "He would not let you return with me," he whispered. 

Bratherond froze and fearfully retreated from Merionè as the troubled elf suddenly toyed unconsciously with his knife. 

 "I do not know how much longer I can control it Bratherond. It only grows worse with each passing day. I do not trust myself and nor should you.  Please, I beg of you, you must leave." 

Suddenly Merionè realized what he was doing and swiftly sheathed his knife.  "It is not only your own life you are putting at risk by staying with me," he breathed. 

Bratherond never removed his eyes from the knife and the tremble that had laced his voice spread throughout his entire body. Neither elf noticed the third elf approach them quietly from his perch where they had supposed him to be sleeping.

Cièdron cleared his throat, causing both to jump in surprise.  Bratherond fell back and his steel eyes betrayed the anguish that claimed his heart as he took in the King's son whom he had sworn to protect.  

"Who did you swear an oath to Merionè?" Cièdron demanded. Though weakened and pallid, Cièdron still was able to exude the powerful, formidable presence of his father that neither Bratherond nor Merionè could ignore.

When no answer came, Cièdron's eyes flashed dangerously and he once again demanded forcefully, "WHO did you swear an oath to Merionè!?!" 

Merionè shut his eyes and shook his head hopelessly.

"Sauron," he finally answered. 

The blood drained from Cièdron's already gray face and Merionè slowly reopened his darkened eyes and repeated, his words falling like lead in the misty, sinister forest, 

"I swore my loyalty to Sauron."

* * * * * 

Having finally been released from the clutches of Mirkwood, Aragorn and Legolas decided to rest the remainder of the night at her edge, relishing in the cool, free air and endless land before them underneath the magnificent stars and moon floating within the crisp, clear sky. 

After building a small fire, Aragorn leaned back against a tree and took out his pipe.  It had been a long time since the human enjoyed the sweet, soothing smoke and he felt he deserved it now more than ever.  As he slowly breathed in, he listened to the silence around him and released a small sigh almost feeling as if he were back in Imladris or Thranduil's realm.  Legolas' tall, slender silhouette created a long shadow in the moonlight as the elf stood gazing intensely at the desert land before them.

"Tell me what you see Legolas," Aragorn asked quietly, his voice carrying over in the soft, gentle breeze.

The elf stood silently for several moments before answering. "I see the land swim and quake. I see the stars dance to the Celduin's song."

Aragorn smiled at the elf's nonsensical, lighthearted descriptions, but his face dropped at the words that followed. 

"I also see a shadow. It is gathering across the land like a dark mist. It is waiting, Aragorn."

Aragorn sighed and slowly took out his pipe.  He followed Legolas' gaze southward, but saw nothing but the shadowy deserted land. 

"Mordor is awakening," Legolas murmured.

Aragorn stood and walked to the elf's side.  As clouds sailed leisurely across the sky they revealed the distant black mountains of Mordor, like small, jagged teeth jutting out of the flattened land. 

"Alas I do not possess the eyesight of elves," Aragorn said as he placed a hand on the elf's shoulder and continued to strain his eyes to see the darkness that now clouded Legolas' features.

Legolas' eyes widened slightly, though he did not say at what, and he finally tore himself away, looking towards the east instead. 

"I can describe to you whatever you wish to see Master Ranger to the best of my ability. But not all gifts are gifts always," Legolas faced the human and a sad smile tugged at his lips. "You do not need elven eyes to enjoy this sky and this view – you only need them to see the darkness beyond this land." 

Again Legolas glimpsed towards the south, but quickly looked away as if the image there was too painful to bear, and he settled himself against the very tree Aragorn had been leaning against.  His eyes then rested lazily on Aragorn's pipe which lay innocently besides the ranger's pack.  Carefully the elf picked it up and studied the smooth, intricate carvings.

"These are lovely carvings, Aragorn, though I do not recognize these letters. Where did you get it?" Legolas asked as he held it closer to his eyes.

"The dwarves gave it to me when I traveled through the Misty Mountains some years back," Aragorn explained distractedly as he continued to gaze towards Mordor. 

Legolas gaped at Aragorn. "Ai! Dwarves? You would accept a gift from them? Figures they would create an object capable of such putrid smells…" 

But despite his apparent disdain for the dwarven pipe, Legolas raised it and curiously sniffed the contents of its barrel.  Aragorn cocked an eyebrow and wondered if the elf had completely lost his mind when Legolas then decided to suck on the pipe itself. 

"UGH!!" Legolas' fair face puckered up as if he had just swallowed a lemon and he swiftly dropped the pipe as he gagged and choked on the thick, powerful smoke. Aragorn frowned as the pipeweed spilled out of the barrel and was momentarily torn between helping the elf and gathering the spilt pipeweed.  Though Legolas' eyes began to tear and the poor elf continued to cough uncontrollably, the ranger opted for gathering the pipeweed. 

"You are not supposed to swallow the smoke my friend." Aragorn explained as he placed the pipeweed back into the pipe and relit it.  As Legolas continued to gag and choke, the ranger's eyes sparkled deviously and he comfortably leaned beside him, properly inhaling the smoke and puffing out graceful rings that floated quietly away amidst the violent coughing and caustic elvish grumbling.  _A shame Gandalf is not here… _Aragorn thought, imagining the old wizard's grumpy reprimand. _Fool of a wood elf! Remind me to hide my staff from you before you decide to mimic the Istari!_

When at last the elf's choking fit subsided, Aragorn calmly turned and grinned. "Recover yet Prince of Mirkwood? Or shall I slap your back to help you get rid of that hairball in your throat?" 

Thranduil's glare shone through Legolas' seething bright eyes and had Aragorn not known better, he may have even cowered in the wake of the fiery glower. 

"A curse on all dwarves and a curse on all pipeweed!" he spat out after one last cough.   
  


Legolas' eyes widened angrily as the ranger began to snicker softly. "It is not funny Aragorn! That stuff, it is… it is poison!" 

"One elf's poison is another man's elixir," Aragorn muttered through a smirk. 

Legolas let out an aggravated sigh and grumbled rather arrogantly in elvish about the absurdity of the other races which Aragorn decided to ignore. "Though I should like for Cièdron to try it," the elf continued mischievously. 

As he mentioned his brother, Legolas suddenly remembered the circumstances under which they were separated and he fell silent, the mischievous thoughts and previous irritation giving way to gloomy concern. 

Aragorn dropped a hand on the elf's shoulder and rubbed it reassuringly.  

"I am sure he would figure out immediately the proper way to smoke it Legolas… or be wise enough not to try in the first place," the ranger teased.

"I was only curious as to what it was that so ensnares humans, dwarves and wizards…" Legolas half heartedly tried to explain.

"And hobbits," Aragorn added.

"Aye, and hobbits. Though they are queer creatures indeed." Legolas smiled as he briefly remembered the Halfling that had wondered into Mirkwood many years ago. He had seen him in the wood not far from the palace, but then the little hobbit had disappeared like a phantom and despite the elf's best efforts, he could not find him again. Not soon afterwards, bizarre occurrences spooked the guards, agitated his father and brother and confused the rest of the wood elves.  Legolas had found it all rather amusing, though he hid his mirth well – especially when the dwarves that originally accompanied the hobbit escaped his father's dungeons.  Surely, he would have been locked away for a thousand years had his livid father or humiliated guards caught merely an inkling of a twinkle in his eye. 

"No more queer than those who walk on snow, treetops and furniture," Aragorn countered. 

Legolas shrugged and slouched against the tree "You're just jealous," he muttered wearily. 

The ranger snorted at this and put out his pipe. "I am perfectly happy with both my feet firmly on the ground." 

The two fell silent and awaited the sunrise, each hoping that the other now slept peacefully as each desperately needed to do, but knowing in their hearts that neither would allow the comforts of sleep to overtake them. When the sun did rise, she did so amidst a fanfare of reds, oranges and pinks, lighting the brown sea on fire. Legolas and Aragorn gazed in wonder at the trembling pink and orange landscape.

The human's eyes then fell on Legolas' shoulder and as if just realizing he had a cast at all, the elf looked down at it also, frowned and squirmed out of it, gingerly stretching out his arm and wiggling his fingers. 

"It is a little stiff, but I believe it has healed much over the night," Legolas answered Aragorn's unasked question as he beckoned for his bow and quiver. Aragorn tentatively handed them back to Legolas, warning him to be careful not to strain his shoulder as he did so. 

Legolas smiled as he grabbed the bow. He felt almost naked without it and the feel of its smooth wooden arch in his slender hands comforted him like a blessed charm. In one swift move he lifted it and released an arrow which shot out like a rocket to no target in particular. Though he rubbed his shoulder, he made no other sign of pain and Aragorn decided not to press him. Besides, as he shook the nearly empty canteen, new concerns flared in his mind. 

Legolas watched the ranger and then gazed to the East. "The Celduin is but twenty leagues from here. If Neila can take it, we can make it before the sun sets."  

Aragorn nodded and poured some water into the horse's mouth. "She will need it more than us today," he murmured. "Shall we?" 

When Legolas did not answer, Aragorn turned towards the elf who now stared intently at a distant spot. "Legolas?"

"There is someone out there Aragorn," he replied. "I cannot tell who or what it is…"

Aragorn nodded and mounted Neila. "Then we shall find out."  

Legolas agreed and mounted in front of Aragorn and the two swiftly rode away from Mirkwood and into the Eastern lands. 

For a little less than an hour they stayed on course, Legolas never removing his eyes from the lone traveler who remained invisible to Aragorn's human sight.  They traveled through a barren landscape under the glaring yellow sun, which was something of a shock after emerging from the claustrophobic tunnels of the forest.  Instead of the withering trees of Mirkwood, scraggly, dry bushes and stunted Joshua trees peeked out of the cracked ground.  Large bugs and tiny rodents scurried over and hid under small rocks that dotted the earth. Dry, cool breezes whisked the riders' hair and chapped Aragorn's lips. Further south, this land would become a vast, scalding desert and further north, a stormy, frigid valley. But here, it remained just an endless plain of nothingness, neither desert nor valley, hot nor cold, welcoming nor forbidding. 

"It is an elf, Aragorn!" Legolas exclaimed suddenly as he lightly hopped off Neila and ran ahead to get a better view.  Aragorn shielded his eyes from the searing white sunlight and focused them on the tall, slender figure perched on a dark, magnificent horse still at least a hundred yards away from them.  

As they drew closer to the figure, Aragorn too hopped off Neila and caught up to Legolas, lightly touching his sword under his cape, but not yet daring to reveal it. "Let me speak. He may be suspicious of your language and accent," Aragorn hissed. Legolas nodded and also fingered the dagger at his side. 

"Hello," the ranger called out. "We are travelers of the Rhun. Can you tell us who you are?"

Only the gusty wind answered Aragorn as the elf remained as still and alert as a cat. Underneath his hooded cape which billowed in the wind, Aragorn glimpsed fair hair and shadowy green eyes which warily rested on Legolas' bow.  When Aragorn and Legolas finally stopped in front of him, he still made no movement, and revealed no emotions.  Legolas calmly returned the icy, even stare, but made no greeting of his own. The horse remained as still as the elf, watching the travelers with the same frightening intensity as her master. Aragorn's eyes rested on the half dozen water canteens the elf had tied to his horse and again he attempted to encourage him to speak.

"I am Strider and this is my companion…." Aragorn hesitated for a split second. Would the elf recognize Legolas' name as Sindarin? Would it even care? 

"Laiqualassë," Legolas quickly interceded, using the Quenyan form of his own name.

The reticent elf, who had been watching Aragorn as he spoke, snapped his head towards Legolas, his eyes gleaming with curiosity and a hint of mirth. Legolas groaned inwardly. He had hoped perhaps that the elves here spoke a language similar to primitive elvish, which in turn he had hoped was similar to the ancient language of the high elves, Quenya. It was a stretch, and Legolas doubted his pronunciation (and even the accuracy) of his translation.  But then again, regardless of the fact that Legolas may have spoken nothing more than gobbledygook to the elf, at the very least it was not Sindarin. __

But Legolas did not reveal this self doubt and he continued to hold the stare to the point where Aragorn seriously thought they may remain there for days if he did not speak up. Soon, even Legolas began to grow uncomfortable in the wake of the unwavering emerald eyes. Sensing this, Aragorn cleared his throat and reached his hand out in a sign of peace.

"We are trying to reach the Celduin. We need water…" he continued. "Do you have any you could spare?" 

The elf did not remove his gaze from Legolas and ignored Aragorn's question. His searching eyes moved from Legolas' face to his hair, and then to the prince's garb, finally lingering on Merionè's bare knife which was sheathed at Legolas' side. 

"Teler,"  the elf finally said triumphantly as a strange light shone in his eyes.* With an eerie smirk, he turned his horse and raced away, carelessly tossing a canteen at Aragorn as he did so.  

Aragorn easily caught the canteen, but he did not look at it, nor move at all for several long moments as he watched the elf disappear into the dusty wasteland.  Legolas too did not utter a word nor move a muscle as his intense stare remained firmly attached to the solitary elf. 

When the elf finally disappeared into the bright sun and dusty wind, Legolas furrowed his brows and slowly pulled out his knife. He delicately traced his fingers lightly on the handle when suddenly his face darkened and his hand froze.  Aragorn watched the elf and raised his eyebrows questioningly. 

"The handle is birch," Legolas stated simply. "Ai, only the Silvan people would carry a knife made of birch. That is how he knew."  

Aragorn frowned, but did not respond as he carefully studied the markings on the canteen.  Intricate dwarven letters, different from those carved into the ranger's pipe, accompanied by strange elvish drawings depicting the night sky marked the deep red animal skin.  He then shook the canteen suspiciously only to find that it was empty. 

"Generous fellow," he muttered sarcastically. 

Legolas' eyes fell on the canteen and then met the ranger's steely gaze. With a silent agreement, the two remounted Neila and continued towards the Celduin.

Whatever relief they felt at having escaped Mirkwood began to ebb as they continued deeper into the strange empty land.  No sound, no trees, no animals, and no more people traversed their path.  Neither Aragorn nor Legolas knew what to make of their fleeting encounter with the elf.  Did he not trust them because they were strangers or because he recognized Legolas to be a descendent of the Teleri tribe? Or perhaps it was only natural for travelers in this realm of Middle Earth to be suspicious and independent, trusting very little in anyone they encountered.  He must have understood the common tongue since he responded to Aragorn by throwing him the canteen (albeit an empty one).  Thus he must have had contact with peoples of the West…_or the Easterlings._ The canteen itself offered its own mysteries with its blending of a strange form of dwarvish and archaic elvish images. 

The late afternoon sun sank and faint stars began to peak out of the darkening sky before the gurgling of the Celduin's rapid currents greeted Legolas' and Aragorn's ears.  Exhausted from the ride and from dehydration, the river's music lightened Neila's spirit and the horse quickened her pace towards the water. When the river finally came within her view, she sprinted even faster much to her riders' delight as they too were anxious to reach the water.   

As they rapidly approached the river, Aragorn stiffened when he noticed a gray figure standing patiently at its bank, still too far for the human to make out who or what it was.  A horse stood beside the figure, and it almost seemed as if the two of them had been expecting Aragorn and Legolas.

Just as Aragorn was about to ask his companion what he saw, Legolas let out a small cry and leapt off Neila's back, impressively landing on his feet despite the horse's increasing speed. Aragorn narrowed his eyes as he tried to make out the face of the figure that had so excited the elf, though in his heart he knew it could only possibly be one person. 

"Mithrandir! Mithrandir!"

**TBC**

*Alright, I don't know what language any elves out in the Rhun would speak, but since these are the guys who never made the journey to Valinor in the first place, I'm thinking their language evolved from the really primitive elvish language which in turn might bear some resemblance to Quenya (and conveniently Legolas is thinking this as well). And as for "Teler" - I don't want to go into too much detail because I'll only mess it up, but Teler is the singular form of Teleri, the last tribe to make the Great Journey (the other two being the Vanyar & Noldor) & the Sindar & Silvan descended from this tribe. (and as for whether Legolas is Silvan or Sindarin –his blood is Sindarin, but he refers to himself as Silvan – if anyone cares, this is all in the Encyclopedia of Arda)

Another thing, in case anyone is as anal as I am, in the books, Gandalf never actually did go to the Rhun (or so he said), but oh well..

**REVIEWERS!**

First of all, thank you so much for being patient (of course I cannot see you all on the other side of this computer land, but I'll just pretend you are not actually cursing me for lying about when I may update).  Second of all, I made it to 100,000 words which for me is the most unbelievable accomplishment & there is no way I would have ever made it past Chapter 3, let alone 100,000 words (100,000 ohmygoodness!), without the encouragement of you guys.  And lastly, it is sooo nice to get back into this & such a pleasure to see some familiar reviewers & some new ones in my inbox. 

**Alexa**: Hellooo there! I'm glad you liked the flashback! I love Gandalf-Legolas interactions, especially since we really get so little of it. You know, if there is one thing I absolutely love, it's when reviewers point out things that I don't even notice while I'm writing. "between the hope of Mankind and the hope of a failing wood." It seems very obvious now that that was the choice, but honestly I was just thinking of a narrower choice – the actual people, but you are very right & I like that much better. I did have some trouble with that part & you just made me feel a hundred times better about it. Thank you again for your wonderful review! 

**Daw**** the Minstrel: Thank you!!! I always freak out when I get a review from someone whose fanfic I have read long before I started writing & you are one of those people (I enjoyed The Novice & A Question of Duty) so thank you so much for your very kind reviews. I am not worthy!! But thank you ;)**

**Deana: **Wow, thank you! I'm amazed by people who have the patience to read all the chapters at once – that alone is definitely a huge compliment, so thank you!

**Ecri****: Thank you very much!  Glad you liked the horse bit ;)******

**Fliewatuet****: Yup, the DG group, as of now, probably is worse off. I'll probably go more into Merione's experience in the next chapter. **

**Gwyn****: Ah, patience my dear! ;) See! Gandalf found them. It may have taken a while, but he got there… Thank you for the review! **

**HyperCaz****: Thanks! Don't know what's going to happen to the Orcs….**

**Irish QT: **Thank you! And give my thanks to your army of 6 inch dwarves as well!****

**Kyra****: Thank you! I hope you didn't leave! I'm on break now, so the wait between the next few chapters shouldn't be too long**

**Leanaunsidhe****: Thank you! The updates are here, and I'll try to get 2-3 more over winter break. **

**LOTRFaith****: Yeah, they do need hugs. A lot of hugs….  (and I'd be more than happy to give it to Legolas)******

**RainyDayz****: Hello! Ack! The spinning again – you're always spinning me! ;) But thank you anyway.  Yes, I finally did see Return of the King and I will probably be seeing it again soon. It was amazing and sentimental wuss that I am, I cried like nobody's business at the end – all through the coronation, the goodbyes, the closing credits...just a sobbing mess. Legolas' outfit was lovely, oh yes, very lovely. I think I may have even gasped when they showed him at Aragorn's coronation at the end – and before that when he walked into Frodo's room. How can anyone be so beautiful???? God bless you Orlando Bloom, wherever you are.  I can't wait for the extended version – I saw a tiny little clip of a drinking contest between Legolas & Gimli which was cut, but should be on the DVD & it looks hilarious.  God bless extended DVDs for die hard fans who have no problem at all sitting through 15 hours of lord of the rings. **

**Sirithiliel****: Understanding the Black Speech is a useful talent! Unfortunately, I don't think it'll help much in this story…**

**Tainted Fortune: **Thank you very much!

**Viktoreja**** Rose: I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying! ;)******

**WeasleyTwinsLover****: I hope the hell for you has gotten a little better & you're enjoying a nice break now! I have to say, all of last semester was hell & I'm dreading the next one. But at least for now we could rest….**

**Wildfire: **Thank you!!****


	17. Merione's Oath

_Alatar__ and Pallando arrived in Middle-earth dressed in sea-blue. For this reason, they were together given the name Ithryn Luin, the Blue Wizards. With Saruman, they journeyed into the far east of Middle-earth, but while Saruman returned to the west, Alatar and Pallando did not. Of their fate, we know almost nothing…_

_Tolkien__ tells us 'What success they [Alatar and Pallando] had I do not know; but I fear they failed, as Saruman did, though doubtless in different ways; and I suspect they were the founders or beginners of secret cults and 'magic' traditions that outlasted the fall of Sauron.' (The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, No. 211).   (From the Encyclopedia of Arda)_

**Chapter 17 Merionè's Oath__**

Merionè trembled and dropped his head in his hands. "Forgive me, my prince. I would never want to betray your family. I never meant to…" 

"I believe you had better tell us _exactly what happened out there Merionè," Cièdron interrupted. Though his voice was stern, sympathy laced its hardened edges as he considered the kneeling warrior in front of him. "We stand on a wire Merionè. There is nothing left to hide for who knows how long any of us will survive this." _

Cièdron then dropped to his knees and placed a hand on Merionè's cold cheek. "Mayhap we could help you. At the very least, you can relieve yourself of the burdens that crush your soul."

Merionè sighed and returned Cièdron's gaze with empty, darkened eyes. "I will tell you everything that happened. But promise me first you will not think me a traitor. Think of me as a coward or a fool… but not a traitor. I love your father too much Cièdron to ever betray him. Please do not think that…"

Cièdron bit his lip and nodded. Bratherond too shook his head and sighed softly, "Merionè, despite anything I may have said in the past, I would cut off my own hand before I truly thought you a coward, traitor or fool." His voice dropped so that it was barely audible. "We have all made horrible mistakes, Merionè."

Merionè staggered slightly at these words. For all the years he knew Bratherond, this was the closest thing he had ever heard to an apology for his curt, abrasive comments. _The darkness truly is affecting us all! _"Do not speak so soon Bratherond," Merionè whispered. With a deep breath that released the ghosts of a thousand years of burdens, he began his story, "First of all, you should know, though I began with twelve warriors, it too quickly became eight…"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_"Who is the leader of this brave band of warriors?"_

_Dry winds carried a barrage of sand and dust over the colorless, sleepy lands of the Rhun.  Twelve elven warriors of Mirkwood, beaten and exhausted, struggled to stand in the glaring pale sun amidst the parched gray bushes and withering Joshua trees.  For days they had wandered aimlessly in this beige, desolate land, exiled from their own home by the Orcs who had seized control of __Southern Mirkwood__. Their minds deteriorated into states of delirium as the screeches of Dol Guldur and yearnings for home ripped apart their souls and lured them into believing false promises of relief from their suffering, evil promises that could only lead to their own destruction.  Hope appeared to them in the form of the lost elves of the Rhun, who despite their strange language, understood enough of the Common Tongue, and even some Sindarin to offer them help. But to their dismay, they soon found that an evil force controlled these elves' minds and allied them with the Easterlings, enemies of the Western lands of men.  And, alas, their alliance did not stop there.  Only it was too late when the elves of Thranduil discovered the desert elves' ties to Sauron for them to escape the invisible chains that bound them. Their minds and bodies had been poisoned by the deceit of these elves and though they were not so weak as to fall into Sauron's rank just yet, they had already abandoned their leader in a fit of despair and delirium only to be ambushed the next day by those of another clan – a far larger, far more vicious clan who would not even pretend to offer them help at all.   _

_"You will suffer for your loyalty! WHO is the leader of these warriors?" The leader of this clan, a tall, wiry elf with golden hair paced fitfully as the dozen warriors trembled under the ivory tipped arrows of another fifty fair elves with dark billowing capes and fiery emerald eyes. Not one spoke as the tall elf scowled impatiently._

_"Afraid to reveal your leader then?__ Ah well, that is a shame, that is a shame indeed…" With one swift move the elf snapped his fingers at one of the Thranduil's elves and an arrow instantly lodged itself into his heart.  Beside him, an elf shrieked and collapsed to his knees, cradling the lifeless head in his arms.  Another bowstring snapped and a moment later he too fell dead, his companion still limp in his hands. _

_The elf grinned maliciously at the stunned, frightened faces and his gimlet eyes pierced their hearts as effectively as the arrows. "Not so brave now, hmm? Now, I would hate to have to shoot all of you, for I believe you may be quite useful to me…" _

_As he prepared to raise his narrow hand and snap his fingers again, a rider appeared in the distance, another of the strange Rhun elves with a dark cape and pale hair. When finally he reached the gathering, he dropped a large, gray bundle at the feet of the leader._

_The elf raised an eyebrow when suddenly the bundle twitched and shakily rose to his knees.  Frosty eyes embedded in a deeply bruised and bloodied face bore into the leader like daggers, but his entire body shook viciously from his beating and exhaustion assuaging the threat in the two bloodshot orbs.  _

_"Another one?__ Well, well, you are just in time mellonin," the leader purred, his velvety voice mockingly drawing out the Sindarin word. "We were just trying to figure out a little mystery here – who the leader of this fine clan of woodland warriors is.  As you can see, your companions have not exactly been very cooperative…." The elf sneered as he elegantly motioned towards the two dead elves, collapsed like rag dolls in a growing pool of crimson blood, the only color to brighten the naked land. _

_The captured elf squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Slowly he opened them and turned, dreading the sight that awaited him. When his blue eyes fell on the ten tormented warriors, barely clinging to life and looking like skeletons stained in blood and dirt, he gasped.  He then followed the leader's gaze to the two dead bodies and let out an anguished cry. _

_"NO! MURDERERS! MURDERERS!"  The elf leapt up and towards the two bodies, but he was swiftly knocked down by his captor and pressed into the grimy earth. He choked on the dust and dirt he breathed in and gasped as he was violently lifted by his collar.   _

_The leader smiled and lifted the elf's chin with his bony fingers. "Perhaps you may be able to help me out with this little problem?" The voice was as empty and confident as the boundless land around them._

_The elf trembled angrily as his eyes locked with the leader's cold, unaffected gaze.  "Their leader did not come forth because he had been captured and could not come forth! You killed those two needlessly!" he hissed. "It is me! I lead these warriors! You will let the rest of them go now!"_

_The leader snickered treacherously and ran his hand over the elf's cheek, "Let them go? And tell me…." He paused and leaned in closely to the elf. "Forgive my poor manners… what it your name?" he smoothly asked as he toyed with the brooch on the elf's cape._

_"Merionè," the elf responded evenly, his voice as tense as a pulled string with his barely controlled rage. _

_The leader stopped snickering and leered angrily at Merionè. "And tell me Merionè, what exactly do you intend on doing if I do not let them go?"_

_"There may not be much I could do, but if you do not release them, as soon as our King hears of this, I promise you, you will have a deadly war on your hands." Merionè's voice simmered with fury and his body's trembles intensified causing his captor to cruelly tighten his grip on the elf's collar. _

_The leader straightened and regarded the woodelf contemptuously. For a long time, his green eyes laughed at Merionè, though his features otherwise remained smooth and controlled. _

_"Your King is no longer strong enough to fight against the forces that have already claimed your forest, Merionè." These words were uttered simply as if he were breaking the sorry news to a child that a myth was nothing more than that – a myth.  Then he smirked and bent down again, bringing his face just inches away from Merionè's.  "It is only a matter of time now. If you do not join with *him* there will be no place left for you in this world. You can tell your King that." As he spoke, he ran his fingers through Merionè's long, knotted hair tantalizingly twirling his braid in his hand. _

_After several long moments during which an inexplicable, acute fear consumed Merionè's soul from the very touch of this elf, the leader straightened and turned again towards the warriors. "Did you hear that? Your King is no longer strong enough to fight. Sauron is returning and all kings will soon bow to him, elven and men alike."_

_He paused and allowed his words to settle. "Of course, you still have a chance to join with the victorious side…." _

_Merionè__ jolted up, ripping himself from the grip of his captor in a sudden explosion of fury. "They will not join with you! They will never join with Sauron!" But once again a large force brutally tackled Merionè to the ground. A moment later a jagged knife teased his throat and Merionè gagged on his tightening collar. _

_The leader did not flinch at this sudden outburst and he calmly kept his gaze focused on the elves, though he addressed Merionè. "Oh won't they? I should like to hear them declare it themselves," he drawled. _

_"You!__ There!"  He suddenly yelled as he pointed at a smaller elf hidden behind the taller warriors in front of him. The guards behind the elf roughly pushed him and he stumbled forward, his shaky knees trembling like rubber beneath him._

_"Ah, you look like a young one now… Is this your first scouting mission for your King?"_

_The young elf, who looked no older than a human teenager, revealed no emotion in his steely gray eyes, though his lip quivered faintly and his heavy breathing challenged the wind's hollow song.  _

_The leader laughed menacingly at the young warrior. "Alright, alright, you do not have to answer." He then signaled for one of his archers. The archer duly appeared at his side and obediently raised his bow at the young elf's chest. _

_"Now, I am going to offer you a choice little one. You can live here and serve us after Sauron's victory, or…" the elf paused and considered the other option with a wink at the archer. "Or you can choose not to," he finished lightly.  _

_The young elf bit his lip and straightened proudly. For a moment he stared at the leader, looking as if he may consider the terrible choice. Merionè struggled vehemently, but choked on his cries as the captor continued to tighten his collar around his thin neck. _

_At last, the young elf made his decision. He furiously spat at the leader and in a single breath he was on his back with an arrow protruding from his chest. _

_"NO!" Merionè's cry was nothing more than a gurgle. Tears rolled down his cheeks and his stomach twisted as viciously as the collar strangling him._

_The leader sighed and shook his head. "Ah that is a shame. He did look like he would be a fine fighter…." He considered the other warriors, running his eyes over them like a predator choosing his prey. _

_"NO! Leave them be!! Please, leave them be!" Merionè finally gasped desperately. _

_The leader ignored Merionè's pleas and moved on to the next warrior.  "Well, well! What is this? Has your King grown so short of soldiers he now must use his women? And such a lovely one also…" He leered hungrily at a female warrior who was pushed in front of him. "Now dear, I certainly hope you are wiser than that poor child…Tell me what your choice is?"_

_Merionè's__ entire body went limp as he watched his only female warrior gracefully hold her head high as the elf signaled for his archer to point the deadly arrow at her heart. "Do not touch her! Get your hands off her! Leave her be!!"  _

_In a gust of wind, Thranduil's warrior rejected the offer and she too was shot. Merionè crumbled to the ground in a pool of tears as she sank into a pool of blood. "Please! Please, do not torture them like this! They do not deserve this! They are here only for me! They only serve me! Torture me! But leave them be!" he cried. His captor loosened his grip and allowed his head to fall limply towards the ground in defeat.  _

_The leader, clearly amused by this display prepared to choose yet another warrior when a strange light suddenly flooded his eyes. He turned again towards Merionè and studied the broken elf carefully. With a wave of his hand Merionè was lifted from the ground._

_"You were right, Merionè," his cold voice slinked through the wind like a serpent's hiss.  "It does not seem any of these warriors of yours will swear their loyalty to Sauron. Thus it seems I may as well kill them all now."_

_Merionè__ shook his head, "No, please, do not harm anymore of them.  Take me. Take me instead and let them go."  His voice was as limp and breathless as his body and he clung to the last strand of strained hope that remained. He did not truly believe these creatures would take him over twelve – nay, eight- warriors.  But he had nothing left in the world – not a sword to fight with, not a strong enough muscle in his body, not a scheme clever enough in his mind.  All he had was himself and he would give it all in a heartbeat to stop their suffering – to stop his own suffering from having to endure this frightful nightmare. _

_The leader's grin widened with insatiable delight. "Ah yes! You have read my mind Merionè! No wonder your King chose you to lead these fools – you are smarter than you appear. Yes….I think I should like to take you instead." _

_Merionè's__ breathing stopped and he stared incredulously at the other elf. "You would do it then? You would let them go? You would take me and let them go?"_

_"Well, it is not as easy as that, Merionè. I'm afraid I cannot just *take* you. You must hand yourself over, mind, body and soul." _

_The words cut through Merionè like a thousand arrows and he thought for a moment that his heart had actually stopped.  He had thought they would just kill him – that they would take his body, that they would put the arrow in his chest instead of theirs. That was not so bad! Nay, not at all, if that meant the rest would be freed! Ai, he had grown so weary of this world anyway – so many years of fighting, of suffering, and for what?  He loved __Greenwood__ and he loved Thranduil, but his heart grew more distant every year he spent away from Lindon, away from the sea.  Oh yes, it would have been nice to return to the sea, but if he died at this moment, would he ever know the difference anyway? Perhaps from the Halls of Mandos, he could even see the ocean's waves again! It is all he would need – to see it, to hear it, to feel its song once again. Let them have his body! As long as his soul could leave freely, he had no need for his body anymore than he needed the cape on his back._

_But they wanted more than his body.  Merionè shook feverishly- could they do it? Could they imprison his very soul? "What do you mean?" he finally breathed._

_"I did not capture all of you merely to kill you. I had wanted more warriors for our cause. If I cannot get at least one, then I really have no use for the rest of you so I may as well kill you as punishment for not giving me what I need.  But… if I can get one, then I do not mind what happens to the rest." The leader seized Merionè by the neck and roughly held him up so that they were face to face._

_"Swear your loyalty to Sauron and your warriors will be freed," the elf whispered. His voice was an echo that froze Merionè's heartbeats and shot ice through his veins.  _

_Merionè__ shook his head and quavered. "No…no… I will not… I cannot…." _

_The leader promptly dropped him and snapped his fingers for another archer to raise his bow. Merionè gaped in horror as another warrior fell. Only this time, the arrow did not puncture his chest, but his shoulder, causing the elf to writhe and moan in pain.  The leader smirked and snapped his fingers again, ordering another arrow into the other shoulder. _

_"It is much more fun this way! Where would you like to see the arrow go next Merionè? A leg? How about his stomach? Pick a spot, any spot, just not the heart or the head, we do not want him dying on us after all!" _

_"No! No, why can't you just shoot me instead?? Please!" Merionè begged once more as he supported himself on his hands and knees._

_"You did not choose, Merionè!!" the leader taunted. In a sudden movement, he yanked the hair on the fallen warrior's head and ripped the arrow out of his shoulder which he then held up to his throat. "If you do not, I will, and I promise, I can be very creative!" he snarled, moving the arrow dangerously close to the elf's eyes. _

_"NO! I will swear it!!" _

_The leader grinned and dropped the arrow and the wounded warrior to the ground. The earth stood still as he strode to Merionè and gently lifted his chin. "Say it," he hissed, his eyes flashing gleefully._

_"I swear my loyalty to you…" Merionè murmured. "Please just let them go, please…" _

_"Not to me! I am but an agent. Swear it to him! Swear it to Sauron!" _

_A person can float through life without ever truly understanding the power of an oath, uttering meaningless words and never feeling the sensation that his very soul was tied to the words he spoke. Or perhaps, he will know the meaning of an oath, but it will tie his soul in a way that lifted him higher – an oath of love, or of loyalty to one he loved. Merionè took this oath thousands of years ago when he swore his services to the new King of Greenwood, Thranduil. Alas a day should come that he would not only betray his soul's promise, but he would then bind it to a hell he could not endure! But he could not live with himself if he allowed his warriors to die, one by one.  It was his duty - his duty to them and his duty to Thranduil as the sworn captain of these soldiers – to protect them when he can, to do everything within his power to not wastefully throw their lives away. And therein lay the supreme, cruel irony of the situation – that in order to keep one oath to protect with his life the King's warriors he had to swear another one that would betray that very same King. _

_"I swear it to Sauron. I swear my loyalty to Sauron…Forgive me Thranduil, forgive me…" he whispered.  _

_A sharp pain ripped through Merionè's head and darkness devoured him. The last thing he heard was the cry of seagulls and the call of the sea.  Merionè became nothing more than an empty vessel to be filled with poisoned lies and malignant seeds of treachery.  _

****

_When Merionè awoke, he found himself in a dark, dry cave.  He lay on a soft bed of sorts, covered by a light blanket and supported by feathery pillows. It all seemed rather out of place in the bare cave, but Merionè had no chance to consider this as nausea and pain shook his battered body. He tried to call out, but his parched throat only allowed a hoarse whisper to escape his lips. _

_"So you wake at last," a hooded creature smoothly greeted Merionè. He glided over and placed a cool, wet cloth on his forehead. "You are rather feverish… Here drink this," he said as he held a canteen to his mouth. _

_Merionè__ gratefully swallowed the water, which in fact was not water at all, but rather a strange, sweet drink that coated his throat and stomach and soothed his aching muscles._ When finally he finished, he felt the strength return to him and he sat up to face his healer.  Slowly, painful memories trickled into his foggy mind like the lingering scenes of a recurring nightmare. __

_"My warriors?" he asked, his voice still weak and cracked. "Where are my warriors? They have been released?"_

_Though Merionè could not clearly see the face hidden beneath the shadowy hood, he thought he glimpsed a peculiar smile tugging on the creature's lips.  When he did not answer, Merionè cleared his voice and tried to speak up again. Panic swelled in his heart and toyed with his uneasy stomach the longer the stranger remained silent. _

_"My warriors!__ Tell me, were my warriors released?!"_

_The creature removed the wet cloth and lightly petted his hand. "Do not worry, we did not kill them, just as we promised," he finally replied. Its voice was low and aged, not light and clear as most elf voices were, and Merionè wondered if in fact this was an elf at all that hid underneath the dark hood.  But confusion over the creature's answer pushed out any questions as to his identity. _

_"Did…did not kill them…but you promised to free them! You promised they would be freed! You did not only promise not to kill them, you promised to free them!"_

_"*I* did not promise anything. But, they were freed. Freed from that awful glaring sun and our archers pointing at them. Yes, we did free them from that."_

_Merionè__ trembled and his heart rose to his throat as the sickening realization that he had been tricked washed over him. "No, no that was not what I meant! You were to free them so that they could go home! They were to go home!"_

_"Ah, now perhaps you should have specified the terms then. For really, how are we supposed to know what you mean by free? It is such a disputable term…"_

_"No… no… that was not the promise… that was not what he promised…" Merionè stuttered fearfully. "That was not what he promised!"  _

_The creature ignored Merionè as he gathered a small, light bag and a rolled up parchment, tied with a single gold string.  He then brought in Merionè's horse and pack which had been supplied with a bounty of food and water to last many days of travel. _

_"You are to return to your King," he finally declared. "And you are to bring him this," he continued as he handed the bag and parchment in to Merionè. _

_"What is this?" Merionè asked softly as he began to open the bag._

_"Do not open it!" the creature ordered, his voice loud and powerful in the narrow, echoing cave. "It is for your King, and your King only. You are not to open it before him."_

_Merionè__ jumped out of the bed angrily, suddenly regaining all the strength that had been drained from him in a fury of confusion and frustration. "What is the meaning of this? Where are my warriors and why do you send me back!? You will tell me…"_

_In a flash the creature had Merionè at the tip of his sword. "I have already told you enough. Now you will ride back as I have ordered you to do."_

_"And what of my oath?"__ Merionè whispered._

_The creature lowered his sword and regarded Merionè with amusement, but he did not answer him.  Merionè leaned in closely, straining his keen eyes to see through the misty darkness that blackened the face of his attendant. _

_"Who are you?" he breathed._

_A soft chuckle emanated from the darkness and the creature motioned towards the horse. He then moved out of the way, revealing the dark exit.  It was night in the Rhun, but whether it was the same day that he had been captured or many days later, Merionè did not know. Nor did he know what was real and what was merely a dream – he had made the oath. One does not forget such an oath! But was he still bound to it? Was it real? What happened to his warriors? Did they live? Were they now somehow bound to this evil? What was it they wanted him to bring to Thranduil?_

_Merionè__ gazed at the Rhun's night sky, where the stars were strange and the wind did not carry the song of Ilúvatar. "I do not understand. Please, at least tell me the fates of my warriors. I ask for nothing else. I cannot return to my King without knowledge of their fates." _

_"Do not worry. You will not return to your King empty-handed." _

_Merionè__ gazed at the creature, then at the bag and scroll and a sudden dread filled his heart. _

_"You will go now, Master Elf of Mirkwood," the creature spoke softly. "We are releasing you, Merionè. You should show more gratitude." He then placed a hand on his arm and Merionè noticed for the first time a silver ring with a blue quarter moon carved into a bed of leaves. His head snapped up and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a white beard tucked under the cloak.  _

_Merionè__ opened his mouth to speak, but a sword at his throat clamped it shut. With a sigh he tied the bag to his belt, secured the scroll in his pack, and mounted his horse to return to Mirkwood and Thranduil. _

* * * * * *  *

"As I rode home, I did not feel even a hint of the oath upon my shoulders. Indeed, I felt as free as I ever had, though burdened with worry for what was left of my warriors. I realize now what a fool I was! Ai, of course no one would be released from such an oath! My body may have been freed, but my mind was not. But it was not until we started to travel that it began to darken. It began only in my dreams, but then it came when I was awake… more often and more powerful. I kept telling myself it was the sea longing… It had been getting worse in recent years after all. But then the Orcs came and I could not kill a single one. My mind would not let my arms aim my bow! It would not allow me to control my sword! Then the Black Speech! I should not have understood it…And now… now, it only grows worse… I cannot describe the dreams I have now, even in my waking hours, for it is too frightful, the things it torments me to do…."

As Merionè trailed off, silence claimed the group.  They had known Merionè suffered, they knew he did not reveal all that had occurred, but now that they actually heard the tale in all its horror, they knew not how to react. Even Cièdron, who had sensed Merione's mental imprisonment ever since the battle with the Orcs could not bring himself to face the truth of Merionè's betrayal. 

Cièdron grabbed Merionè's hand and squeezed it tightly. "Merionè, do not lose hope! They used you and they tortured you, but they did not expect you to be so strong! You have not been taken yet, my friend, for your mind is not so susceptible to their poison. We will help you. We will find Mithrandir and he will help you. We will not abandon you!"

A strange, pensive mist contorted Bratherond's features as the elf observed the scene before him. At first he furrowed his brows and wrung his hands, then he nervously bit his lip, and finally he spoke up, his voice quivering anxiously in a barely audible whisper.

"Get away from him, Cièdron ," he ordered. 

Cièdron stopped his slew of assurances and gaped incredulously at Bratherond, his fair face and bright eyes revealing his shock at the elf's insensitive order.  But he did not move. 

Bratherond shook his head and raised his voice nervously. "Cièdron, get away from him," he pleaded. 

Perhaps it was the darkness surrounding them, the effect of the tale, the influential aura of Merionè's corrupted mind or Cièdron's usual volatile temper, but something inside the elf snapped setting off a monstrous, supernova of fury.  

"MAY SAURON CLAIM YOU FOR HIMSELF AND TORTURE YOU AS HE HAS MERIONÈ, YOU HEARTLESS FIEND!! HAVE YOU NO SYMPATHY FOR YOUR COMPANION!?" The dark forest shook and animals scurried as if an earthquake had just struck the cursed wood. Cièdron rose and stood eye to eye with Bratherond, his father's rage gushing through his veins, white knuckles tightly closed at his sides, torrid eyes searing in the white-hot darkness that devoured his mind. 

Bratherond glared at Cièdron, but controlled his temper and continued to eye Merionè carefully. "I do not wish to test the power of Sauron's forces on you," he hissed. "Do you not see Cièdron? Merionè is their weapon! We have already been deceived into making this suicide mission.  What better way to get to Thranduil than to taint those he trusts most? And what better way than to use their weapon against those Thranduil loves the most!? A fine way to bring down the King, indeed! How convenient also that the fire separated all of us and resulted in Mithrandir being with neither of the King's sons! Ai! One wanders straight into the hands of these servants of Sauron and the other is left alone with their weapon! We can only hope Legolas and Aragorn do not fall into their trap – mayhap Mithrandir did find them." Bratherond momentarily moved his eyes from Merionè who now listlessly stared at the ground murmuring softly under his breath, gripping his knife tightly. _The sea, the sea, think of the sea…_he repeated, though his hushed words did not reach the distracted ears of Bratherond and Cièdron.  

Bratherond rested his steely gaze on Cièdron and continued, his voice still not rising above the firm, determined hiss. "But as for us, I will not let them win. Beware, Cièdron, the darkness is taking you and it clouds your mind. You will fall easily if you do not keep your wits about you. Do not think ever that I will abandon Merionè, but _I also have an oath I must keep." He sighed and broke away from Cièdron's gaze. __If only he knew how much like his father he is. The elf then carefully kneeled at Merionè's side and tightly grabbed his wrists while gently wrenching the knife away from him. "I will not let you fall Cièdron."_

Cièdron remained standing as a flurry of emotions from frustration, to confusion, to realization, to astonishment fluttered in his soul pushing away his previous anger. He was left speechless by Bratherond's determined promise to him. "You do not need to protect me Bratherond," he finally whispered.

Bratherond sighed, but did not turn towards Cièdron. "I have already lost two of your father's sons, Cièdron. I will not break his heart again," he murmured.

Cièdron opened his mouth to speak, but Bratherond stopped him. "Do not say anything more of it, Cièdron! Now is not the time to argue!"

Bratherond did not address Cièdron anymore as he gazed cautiously at Merionè, waiting for him to cease his murmurs and raise his head.  Merionè did not even seem to notice Bratherond was there however as he continued to rock and mutter under his breath. Bratherond furrowed his brows, tightened his iron grip and called out softly to the distant elf. "Merionè!" 

The three warriors sank into the horrible timeless abyss that closed in around them.  There could be no more denials, no more illusions – Merionè was deteriorating before their eyes, collapsing into his own inner torment that literally ate away at his body which now seemed nothing more than a frail, faded tree of Mirkwood.  In a way, Cièdron thought, he_ was_ Mirkwood.  He struggled and steadily fell to the evil that absorbed him, withering away at Sauron's strangling grip, fighting, but failing miserably, and now begging for escape - just like the shriveling trees around them. And just as the forest had turned against them, it was only a matter of time before Merionè did the same.  

Finally Merionè responded to Bratherond's calls and he looked up, anguish and darkness filling his eyes.  

"Merionè, we are going to find Mithrandir." Bratherond lowered his voice to a hushed whisper as he loosened his grip on his wrist and moved his hand over Merionè's, gently rubbing the cold fingers between his own. "I know your heart Merionè, but I fear I will not much longer know your mind." Bratherond considered Merionè's knife and hesitatingly handed it back to him, holding on to one hand as he closed the other around its hilt and guided it to its sheath_. _Merionè gazed at Bratherond in shock.

"Bratherond, nay, I think you should take all of my weapons," he quietly protested.

Bratherond shook his head. "I will not leave you defenseless. Besides, I have seen many battles where you had lost your weapon and still prevailed. I do not think taking away your weapons will help. It is the strength of your will Merionè which we depend on."

Cièdron fell beside Bratherond, placing his hand over his which now shook from Merionè's own trembling hand.  _Ai, __Ada__, if only you knew the evil had been with us all along! I could handle Orcs, I could handle fires and storms, but tell me __Ada__, how do I handle this? _

Bratherond tightened his hold and looked both his companions in the eyes. "It is as we already said. If Sauron wants this wood or our souls, then he will have to pay a hefty sum for it for the Mirkwood elves will not give in so easily! You have not forgotten your words so soon, have you Cièdron? Even if we find our own doom, we shall find theirs as well. Merionè will not give in so easily, just as this forest will not. We will not let him." He then focused solely on Merionè and continued softly, "Merionè, you are strong. Remember those you love, your home, your kin! Think of Lindon and the sea, think of Círdan, think of Greenwood and Thranduil. You can defeat this evil, mellonin..."

Cièdron started at Bratherond's words to Merionè. He had heard these words before! _*When interminable darkness settles in, only the hope within your souls will save you. Remember those you love, remember your home, your kin, remember __Greenwood__… When times are darkest, it will be these memories that pull you through and give you the strength to fight.* Aye, Cièdron's father had spoken these very words to him and Legolas before they left on these doomed missions.  How strange to now here those same words uttered by the elf he quite possibly despised more than any other! _

Cièdron sighed and laughed inwardly at this unexpected irony. "Bratherond, forgive me, I underestimated your wisdom," he murmured. 

Bratherond halted mid-sentence and gaped at Cièdron as if he were mad. The elf could count on one hand the times he had been left utterly and completely speechless – he certainly never expected that the king's bratty son would be the cause of one of those awkward, mind freezing moments! Cièdron looked away though and continued where Bratherond had left off with Merionè. Bratherond struggled to respond, but all he could do was gape stupidly into space. At last, when all things came to an end and the past laid more claim on their hopeless souls than the future, here within the evil depths of Mirkwood and the terrible entrapment of Sauron, Cièdron had won. In the contest of wills and competition of harsh words, Cièdron could finally claim victory against Bratherond, his words leaving the impermeable elf more bemused and flabbergasted than any other words ever had or ever would again in the short life ahead of him. But even so, in the end, Bratherond would still have the last word against Cièdron.  He would have it no other way.

But before Bratherond could wonder anymore about Cièdron's peculiar admission, a sudden wail shook the forest and an intense chill stabbed the air.  Above them a shadow flew, blocking the few droplets of light that trickled through the thick canopy.  Cièdron and Bratherond quickly forgot their past conversation as they quaked viciously from the dizziness that suddenly overtook them. Merionè remained deathly still, trembling only from the shivers that shook his hand which still remained firmly within the grip of Bratherond and Cièdron. The shadow passed as quickly as it came and left the two elves gasping in a fit of violent shivering and nausea and the third frightfully silent. 

"We must go now and find Mithrandir," Cièdron gritted as he pushed down the bile in his throat and took in the eerily calm Merionè. 

Bratherond nodded stiffly and slowly rose to his feet, pulling Merionè up with him. He aided the elf in mounting his horse and then mounted his own, never straying too far from Cièdron. As they left, Bratherond trembled from an unspoken fear that suddenly overtook him.

_We are too close to Dol Guldur. The Enemy will not make our escape from its shadow so easy and we will not have the strength to fight him both within us and around us! I fear our doom will be more merciless than we ever could have imagined! 'One son wanders straight into the hands of the servants of Sauron and the other is left alone with their weapon…' It is what they wanted. We have played directly into their hands._

**TBC**

**Reviewer Responses and Legolas & Aragorn coming very _veryshortly……._**


	18. Betrayal in the Rhun

**"Beware the ground beneath your feet" _Salman Rushdie_ **

**Chapter 18 Betrayal in the Rhûn **

The wizard straightened and crossed his arms against his chest, cocking a wiry, gray eyebrow at the elf's elated reaction. Like an ageless statue, he stood with his proud steed beside him, appearing strangely out of place on the bank of the Celduin, in the middle of nowhere, yet at the same time, looking every bit like he belonged there and always had belonged there for a wizard could stand wherever in Middle Earth he felt like standing, be it the deepest mine, highest mountain, most treacherous forest, or most uninhabited desert, and one would be a fool to dare challenge his belonging. 

Aragorn grinned and quickly caught up to Legolas, though Neila had a slightly more difficult time making it down the steady slope to the river's bank than the elf. When they both reached Gandalf, they stopped and hesitated awkwardly in the wake of the wizard's firm visage.

"You are late," Gandalf declared, his eyes alit with an impish glee at the travelers' surprised faces. "I would expect a skilled ranger and woodland elf to not dawdle quite so much, particularly when they have so carelessly left behind their spare water canteens."

Legolas and Aragorn both opened their mouths to protest, but Gandalf held up his hand to stop them. "I know, I know, there was a fire, and a storm, and there were Orcs, and I have little doubt you two chose the longest, most dangerous path above all others and ran into creatures I have not yet even heard of! And I have no doubt my old ears will hear all about it tonight," the wizard continued with a wink as he noted Legolas' and Aragorn's multiple bruises, wounds and ragged clothing.   

A smile tugged at Aragorn's lips and Legolas' eyes twinkled merrily, causing Gandalf's own hardened features to crack from the immense relief that washed over him. "Ah, but I suppose it is true what they say – better late than never," he sighed and he gratefully embraced both Aragorn and Legolas, his heavy heart momentarily buoyed by the mere sight of the prince and future king.

Around them, the empty land sighed simultaneously with Gandalf, her cool breezes tickling the river's surface.

"Gandalf, you are nothing more than a riddle…" Aragorn smirked. "How on Middle Earth you beat us here, I will never know." 

"The wise often are riddles, Aragorn," Gandalf replied. "As for how I arrived here, it is as I said – you two probably took a path up through the Misty Mountains, down to Dol Guldur and then back again before you finally ended up here. What did I tell you about using your nose to guide you, Aragorn?  A ranger cannot always rely on maps to find his way. As for the elf, I would expect better of him as well, but I understand this forest is quite the challenge, even for the most skilled navigators…"

"Mithrandir! The others! How are the others!?" Legolas anxiously asked as soon as it appeared the wizard had finished his grumpy rant.

Gandalf's face dropped and he patted Neila, whispering a brief "hannon le, mellonin" before answering. "They were fine when I left them Legolas. They escaped the fire unscathed," he assured the elf. Legolas however did not appear convinced and with a sigh Gandalf continued, "Your brother was quite worried about you of course, but I told him he would be nothing more than a fool if he thought for even a second that you would not figure a way out of that fire. Or that I would not be able to find you after I left them." 

Legolas' features relaxed slightly, but concern did not abandon his eyes. "And they continue on to Dol Guldur?"

"Yes," Gandalf answered. The wizard then turned away and motioned for Aragorn and Legolas to take advantage of the clean, clear water of the Celduin which Neila now lapped up happily.  "They continue to Dol Guldur just as I ordered them too."

Legolas stood and watched the wizard closely and Aragorn paused as he kneeled at the river's edge.  Regret which neither the elf nor the ranger found comforting tinged the wizard's voice as he spoke. 

Gandalf cleared his throat and considered the two of them sternly.  Again, he motioned to the river. "Legolas, if I did not know better I would think you were an overgrown hobbit child who had run amuck in Farmer Maggot's fields, you are so disheveled. Go on now, even you must be parched." 

Legolas frowned, but obediently knelt by the river and splashed the clean water on his face. Though his cuts stung, the water felt good on his dry skin as it washed away the dirt and grime of Mirkwood.  Beside him Aragorn still did not turn away from Gandalf.

"Gandalf, there is much we must speak of," the ranger said firmly. 

Gandalf waved him off and nodded. "Aye, Aragorn, I know, I know. There is always much to speak of these days. When there is nothing left to speak of then I will know my duty here is complete. Now go on, you smell more than usual, Strider. It's a miracle the elf still stays with you. That is loyalty indeed, though he always was a strange one…." Gandalf's voice trailed off and he sat down beside the bank, watching the two weary travelers.  His words though light, were half hearted and neither Aragorn nor Legolas bothered to put on a carefree façade as concern for the other group weighed on their hearts. 

After Legolas and Aragorn relieved their thirst and cleaned themselves of the muddied remnants of Mirkwood, the three reclined by the river's bank.  A few diminutive trees dotted the edge and Legolas swiftly ascended their branches, satisfying his soul by listening to the placid murmurings of their bark and leaves. Gandalf and Aragorn sat below the trees watching and listening carefully to the river's babbles and the hollow silence of the endless land around them. 

Aragorn related all that had happened to him and Legolas since the fire- the cliff, the storm, the strange dizziness and wails that overtook them, the sudden respite offered by the Rhûn, and the strange elf they encountered.  Gandalf listened carefully, sporadically nodding his head or encouraging Aragorn to continue with a brief "mmm…" 

When Aragorn finished, the wizard remained quiet, absently puffing on his pipe as he fell into deep thought. 

"Legolas, have you anything to add?" he finally queried. Though the wizard could not see Legolas, his voice remained level and his head did not turn as if the elf were on the ground beside him instead of up in Elbereth knew which tree.  Aragorn gazed up to search for the elf, but to no avail.  Apparently, Gandalf had grown so accustomed to the light footsteps of the woodelves that he could easily spot their presence even when they remained hidden within a maze of dark leafy branches.  The whole scene reminded Aragorn of when they first entered Mirkwood and Gandalf somehow knew it was Legolas who silently followed them, tormenting the wizard with acorns.  

Concern trickled into Aragorn's heart when a response was not immediately forthcoming, but the wizard remained patient, calmly puffing on his pipe as he waited for Legolas' answer. Just when Aragorn was about to call for Legolas himself, the elf's melodious voice traveled down from his unseen perch.

"There is naught that I would add to Aragorn's story, Mithrandir.  But the shadow grows in my mind like an eclipse and I fear something is brewing in these lands. I fear Mirkwood is slipping away to the Enemy and I fear we have only scratched the surface of the Enemy's forces."

"Aye, Legolas, I fear the same. And what do you think of this elf?"

Legolas hesitated before answering. "He was strange, Mithrandir. He did not have the light of Ilúvatar in his eyes. There was another light there, though I do not know if I would call it a light for it was more like a shadow.  Something else controlled him, something other than Ilúvatar. I could feel its power."

Gandalf nodded and considered the elf's words. "I feel the power all over this land Legolas. It is a brooding fog, poisoning the minds of its inhabitants.  This land has been forsaken by the Valar…Or perhaps the peoples here have forsaken the Valar. Either way, I fear Sauron is now stepping in where the Valar did not." Gandalf paused and turned his gaze on Aragorn. "There are many untapped forces in these forgotten lands. Lost elves, four of the seven dwarven tribes, and the Easterlings that Gondor and Rohan have been all too familiar with. Sauron knows this. He knows these peoples have been forgotten, he knows their souls are as empty as this land and are ready to be filled with his poison. Our enemies will be more than just Orcs and wargs in the wars to come against Sauron." Gandalf released a small sigh and gently shook his head. "We knew this though and that is why we sent Saruman, Alatar and Pallando to these lands. Though Saruman has returned, I have not heard from the Ithryn Luin. Alas, I am beginning to fear they have not had much success."

"Do you think we have any hope of finding the warriors Mithrandir? Or at least discovering their fates?" Legolas asked softly. He lightly hopped down from his perch and now stood in front of the wizard and ranger. Clearly, even the trees' murmurings did not bring comfort to the elf and Aragorn wondered if he heard anything at all from these trees, or if they were as empty and forsaken as the people they shared this forgotten land with. 

"Even if we do find them, I fear the states we may find them in. Alas Legolas, I fear the forces your people are up against are worse than any of us imagined."

Legolas frowned. "I wonder if wisdom can ever bring comfort, or if it is always a message of ill tidings and certain doom."

Gandalf looked sharply at the elf. "I did not say certain doom, Legolas. Not yet."

"So what do we do now, Gandalf?" Aragorn asked.

Gandalf puffed on his pipe and absently gazed at the stars. "We follow the Celduin and find out what we can about the strength of the forces that are building up here. And then we will make haste to Dol Guldur to meet the others. And then, Valar willing all six of us will return to Thranduil with information that may aid him in his battles. In all of our battles."

Legolas furrowed his brows, again sensing the regret and urgency in the wizard's voice, but he remained silent, instead turning and watching the stars reflected in the river's lightly rippled surface, their radiant points drawing pictures of Beren and Lúthien and other great heroes of ages past, the subjects of the countless songs that filled the great flaming halls of Thranduil.  Legolas began to softly sing one of these songs as he traced the stars with his eyes, remembering how he would recline in his father's great beeches, listening to the cheerful songs of the woodelves and finding the stars to match them.      

Aragorn looked at the wizard who continued to gaze calmly at the night sky. "My mind speaks of danger Gandalf. I have had misgivings about both of our missions for some time now. It is Merionè. There is much he did not tell us – I could feel it."

Gandalf turned his gaze from the silver stars to Aragorn's gray eyes. "Aye, Aragorn. I feel it as well." With a sigh his eyes then fell on the river's surface. "I fear what it is that makes him suffer."  The wizard then looked at the elf whose singing had stopped suddenly. His back still remained turned as he studied the glimmering water, though a single spot seemed to capture the elf's attention.  Disconcerted that Legolas had fallen quiet and did not reply to their conversation, Gandalf stiffened and looked again at the water, wondering what it was that had so fully enraptured the elf.  Aragorn too narrowed his eyes at the water, wishing once again he could see through elven eyes.  

"What is it you see, Legolas?" Gandalf finally asked, his voice suddenly soft as if he feared who else may be listening.

Legolas did not answer as he continued to carefully watch the mirror-like surface. Something in that reflection caught his attention causing him to straighten and lean towards the water suspiciously.

"Legolas?" Gandalf asked again carefully. Upon seeing the elf lightly finger the knife on his side, Aragorn quickly grabbed his own and began to rise, when suddenly, in one swift motion Legolas whisked out his bow instead and swiveled around pointing three arrows upwards to the top of the small incline at the bottom of which they rested.

"I will shoot all of you before you have a chance to release your arrows!"

Aragorn jumped up and raised his own bow while Gandalf quickly turned and readied himself for battle. But to both of their surprises, no one was there - or at least, they certainly could not see anyone, besides the faded images of Beren and Lúthien, glittering in the night sky. Gandalf wrinkled his brow and searched the darkened peak and Aragorn slowly lowered his bow. 

"Legolas, there is no one there," the ranger murmured still searching for the elf's intended targets.

Legolas held his bow for a few moments longer before finally lowering it. Then as his eyes darkened with determination, he sprinted up the hill. "Nay, I saw them block the stars of Elbereth. They are there."

Aragorn and Gandalf quickly followed Legolas and when they reached the top of the incline, they found the elf standing erect, bow shakily raised and his glittering eyes anxiously searching leagues of barren land. His darkened figure still released a faint glow in the Rhûn's unfamiliar moonlight and his shadow extended for many times the length of his own lithe body on the gray land.  The dusty Rhûn was as silent as an abandoned mine except for a soft wind that played with the elf's hair and cloak.

Aragorn turned and turned again, frustration building up in his body and mind at not seeing whatever enemy the elf was convinced was there.  He did not for a second doubt Legolas' sanity – besides, his own mind screamed that they were not alone- but wherever he looked, he saw nothing but empty, wasted land.  Gandalf too turned around multiple times, only to find nothing.  A stronger wind rustled the leaves in the trees below them and the horses began to neigh nervously. 

"Show yourselves!" Legolas yelled at last. Aragorn shook his head and turned towards Gandalf.

"There is not a tree within which they could hide! Not a rock big enough, not a cave or forest where any creature could hide themselves from our view!" the ranger hissed. 

Gandalf nodded and continued to search the land around them. "But we know nothing of this land Aragorn. We know naught of the secrets she hides." 

Legolas continued to search and though to any observer he would appear as calm and poised as an experienced archer about to easily win a tournament (if he could only find his target) Aragorn caught the slight widening of his eyes and increasing tremble in his hand.

"You will show yourselves! We will not be hunted like prey caught in a trap! Govanno lin dagor! i Núredhil avar dág mín ned dae!" * 

Aragorn's head snapped towards Legolas as the elf slipped into his Sindarin tongue. _So much for concealing his heredity… Unnerved by Legolas' growing panic, he tightened his grip around his bow and desperately searched the moonlit lands for a shadow, a footstep, anything at all, if only to prove he had not lost his sanity. _That Legolas had not lost his sanity. __

The wind murmured to the whispering leaves and the river hummed her eerie melodies.  Beyond this, only the horses' whinnies answered Legolas' cries. Legolas turned around and turned again.  When he turned one last time towards the slick, black river, his entire body stiffened and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Noticing that the elf did not turn again, Aragorn swiftly spun and held his bow taut, ready to take aim at whatever it was Legolas already found. Gandalf however remained facing away from the river and suspiciously moved away, his astute eyes catching a strange shadow approaching Legolas' own. 

But the twang of two bowstrings quickly spun the wizard around, staff raised and eyes flashing. The two horses already ran up the incline and neighed furiously as behind them, at least ten pairs of bright green eyes glimmering through shadow slowly approached. They rose like lotus flowers breaking through the shadows, beautiful, graceful, and poisonous.  One hissed and another wailed as arrows punctured their darkened flesh, but the rest approached too quickly for either Aragorn or Legolas to strike again and the two immediately switched over to other weapons. Gandalf raised his staff and with a powerful yell he dove into battle, deflecting swords and knives as easily as if they were flies, but finding it harder to wallop his enemies as their light feet moved as quickly and smoothly as a serpent, slinking, ducking and gracefully dancing out of the way of their attacker. When the wizard spun around again, his eyes widened fearfully.

"Aragorn, Legolas, behind you! We are surrounded!" Gandalf yelled.

Aragorn and Legolas struck down their attackers and turned at Gandalf's cry to face the swarm. For a moment, all was silent as the elf, ranger and wizard took in the ghostly figures of the Rhûn elves closing in on them like the rising tide of the ocean.  Then, as suddenly as a flash of lightning, the fierce storm of battle began. The ground shook beneath the thunderous blows as knives and swords whipped through and cracked the brittle air, clinging against metal, but rarely puncturing flesh. 

Aragorn's deadly sword pierced the air several times where an elf stood just a second before. Their bodies seemed as protean as water, so quickly did they escape the sword of the ranger and the staff of the wizard. Yet Aragorn and Gandalf were no easy targets themselves as they too slipped past the deadly blows.  The land glowed and flashed in the wake of the shimmering metal reflecting off moonlight as the nimble fight grew in intensity in the murky, violet-gray darkness.  

Legolas fell away from the other two, engaged in his own endless battle against a foe whose skill and speed perfectly matched his own. Indeed, it seemed the elf prince now fought a mirror image of himself. His long knife met each blow and the other's knife met his attacks perfectly like a choreographed dance, almost as if both had been trained by the same swordsmen under the same traditions within the same land. 

The two knives clashed in the air above the fighters and each elf held steadily to his position. Their eyes met and Legolas staggered slightly as a glimmer of recognition shone in the bright blue eyes that held his own. "I see Thranduil has succeeded in training his son as well as his warriors," the strange elf murmured softly.

Legolas' eyes widened fearfully at the familiar voice and he jumped back dropping his knife to his side. _It could not be! Could it?_ His jaw dropped open and he gaped ridiculously at his opponent. His stomach churned sickeningly and his limbs suddenly felt as if his blood had turned to molten lead.  

"Reanur?! Reanur, is that you?!" he whispered. Reanur had been yet another captain of Mirkwood whose patrol had been lost, in addition to Merionè's and a host of other missing warriors. Cièdron's words to him in Thranduil's hall echoed in his head.  _Nay, brother, Ada may not tell me much more than he tells you, but I have spied much more than you have. The Nazgul have reoccupied Dol Guldur, Legolas and in case you have not noticed, Velsier and Reanur and a host of other warriors have yet to return from their patrols of southern Mirkwood._

Reanur's eyes sparkled and he pulled down his hood, revealing his familiar face. Legolas slowly backed away, his head shaking in disbelief at the sight of his opponent – his father's own trusted captain. Around them, the battle continued, with Aragorn and Gandalf finally succeeding in felling at least a few of their opponents, but still too caught in their own deadly, confusing whirlwind to notice the unlikely reunion but a dozen yards away. 

"Mae govannen Thranduilon," Reanur whispered as he drew nearer to the stunned elf prince.*

The knife in Legolas' hand trembled as he continued to back away. But his foot soon found no ground beneath it and he realized he had reached the brink of the land before it declined into the river. He froze and gripped his knife, but it was too heavy to raise, to wield against his father's captain, a sworn protector of Greenwood, an elf he had grown up respecting, dreaming that he too would one day shoot as accurately as he could, fight against the evil that invaded their wood as strongly as he fought, defend their land and their king as proudly as he did! Nay, it could not be! Never would one of Thranduil's own betray them like this! Legolas could not believe it. He refused to believe it! Thus he stood, frozen in his despair, confusion and denial like a bug caught in a spiderweb as the spider steadily approached, its long fair hair glimmering in the moonlight. Long fair hair except for a few sheared strands that fell loosely out of his ponytail…  

Aragorn fought off one elf and turned in time to see Legolas standing motionless with his back against the racing river as if he had been put under a spell as another elf, an elf that even Aragorn noticed bore a strange resemblance to Legolas, slowly approached. So eerie was the sight that a chill tickled Aragorn's spine. Feeling a sudden sense of panic rise in his stomach, he tried to call out to the elf. Gandalf too caught the sight and he struggled in vain to break free of his own fight in order to reach Legolas.  

"Costo, Legolas!" the wizard yelled above the fray.*

But the words did not reach Legolas as he continued to stand, quivering slightly in the wind, eyes wide in fright. His shaky voice whispered, "Reanur, we came to help you and the others, we came to save you… Merionè told us everything, he came to us…he was freed…." Legolas trailed off when he noticed a strange light dance in the other elf's eyes as he mentioned Merionè. 

Suddenly Reanur's face broke into a wide grin. He stopped a foot away from Legolas and snickered softly causing Legolas to instinctively grip more tightly on his knife, but the elf's next words stopped his hand from raising it. 

"Merionè was never freed, Legolas!" 

Legolas furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to speak but gasped when suddenly a mercilessly tight grip clamped on his wrist, cruelly twisting it behind his back and forcing him to his knees. The rest of the battle did not even notice the captain bring the prince to his knees underneath the pale light of the moon and the whipping gasps of the wind.  Anyone who did though would note what an unlikely imbalance of power it was– the king's son at the mercy of his captain and both at the mercy of the growing power of Sauron. 

As Legolas struggled against the ironclad grip, Reanur smirked and hissed. "No one is ever just freed after they are caught by Sauron's forces. Nay, if they are not bound by chains of iron, they are bound by chains within the mind. Did he not tell you about the oath he swore? The oath to the Enemy? Only death will free him from that oath, and I am not even sure if that is enough!" Reanur's eyes sparkled ever more brightly as Legolas struggled more vehemently against his grip. The pain in his wrist ripped through his arm and through his body, preventing anything more than a strained gasp to escape his throat. 

"I suppose Merionè is in the palace with your father now, then?" Reanur tauntingly asked.

Legolas' eyes flashed furiously and he finally mustered the strength to speak. "You traitor!!" he wrathfully spat. "He is not with my father! He is…" Legolas did not finish- he could not finish as his heart stopped in fear and terror choked back the anger that flared inside of him. 

Reanur's eyes flashed and he twisted the elf's wrist further causing Legolas to nearly scream in pain. "Where is he!?! Where?!"

Legolas groaned and tightly shut his eyes, sinking further down towards the ground. His head spun from the frightful realization of the betrayal of his father's captains. _The betrayal of Merionè._ Ai! How could it be? Merionè would travel to Valinor and back for his father! He would deny himself the sight of the stars and the moon, he would shut out the songs of the sea, cut out his own voice, block his own dreams, put it all off for another age, another world, all for the loyalty he had for his father!  Nay, Legolas could not believe Merionè had actually betrayed them. He would believe anything else – that he was tricked, he was fooled, trapped, but never would Merionè betray them!

A piercing pain in his side interrupted Legolas' thoughts. Reanur bent over and kicked him again, demanding him to tell him Merionè's whereabouts. 

"He is with Cièdron," Legolas finally gasped as one more kick knocked the air out of him. 

Reanur's eyes widened. "By Fëanor's jewels…. Each of the King's sons, within the palms of our hands, Thranduil at the mercy of those we now must serve…Alas, we never expected the extent of the doom that our oaths would bring upon us all! _They swore an oath which none shall break, and none should take, by the name even of Ilúvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not..." he murmured.** _

Legolas stiffened and glared at Reanur. "Merionè would not betray us! You are coward and a liar! I should have pierced your traitorous heart with my arrows when I had a chance!"

Reanur smiled and chuckled at this, as if he were humoring a child. "Ah, and I have no doubt you could have Legolas, for I remember well your impeccable aim," he said as he raised his knife above him causing Legolas to struggle ever more violently against his grip.  With a final push, Legolas managed to fall back and swing his leg out, pulling out Reanur's legs below him and causing him to release his wrist.  Legolas then flew on top of the elf and brought his knife to his throat. 

"I am also very skilled with my knife," he hissed. "Neither of us is in the palm of anyone's hand quite yet Reanur! Now you will tell me everything! What happened to Merionè?"

Had the circumstances been slightly different, Reanur would have laughed at this sudden turn of events. Imagine! To be at the mercy of the elfling he had at least some part in training! But as the _elfling's knife pressed further into his throat, he finally had little choice but to speak. "Merionè fell under the same spell as the rest of us. You must understand Legolas, we all thought we could escape, but there is no such thing. Once you swear an oath to Sauron, no matter how indirectly, you are never released, no matter where you go!"_

"And you swore this oath as well?" Legolas gritted as he pushed Reanur further into the ground and pressed his knife into his neck.

"I did what I thought I had to do to save myself," Reanur gasped. Legolas slackened as he noticed a distant light in Reanur's eyes as if Ilúvatar had been trapped somewhere deep within the elf's soul and now struggled to be let free. Reanur bit his lip and shook his head sorrowfully. "Merionè thought he could save himself as well and he will soon be as lost as I am." His voice was but an empty breath riding on the shoulders of the wind. Though Legolas sensed the sincerity of these words, he knew they were not entirely true - Merionè could not care less about himself.   

Legolas' eyes widened and he gazed sadly at the captain. "Reanur, there may be hope left for you – I can see it! I see it in your eyes!" he whispered, slowly lifting his knife as he searched for the flame of Ilúvatar.  

But the light Legolas saw in Reanur's eyes quickly vanished and the corrupted elf again rested his darkened gaze on him. "It is too late Legolas." With speed that could only be matched by perhaps Legolas himself, Reanur's hand grabbed Legolas' arm and pushed the elf off of him.  The two then struggled, kicking up dirt and pebbles that tumbled down the soft hill inches away from them, many rolling into the Celduin's currents, sinking into her murky depths.

"It is too late for Merionè as well!" Reanur shouted as he pushed back Legolas. "Had he not already betrayed you, he would not have allowed you to come to this cursed land to begin with!" 

Though he was not quite sure how it happened, Reanur found himself once more at the edge of Legolas' knife. "May the Balrogs of Morgoth fall at your feet, young prince," he breathed in amazement. "Never have I seen such skill before! Alas I should only witness it now, against myself. Alas that such dark days should come!"

Legolas gaped at Reanur unsure of what to do with his knife now. Should he pity him or despise him? Was this an enemy or lost friend? Or was he neither and just completely mad?! Though he refused to lift his knife even slightly this time, the elf's confusion only grew with Reanur's next statement. 

"You should have let me taken you, Legolas," Reanur whispered. 

Legolas roughly grabbed his collar, ready to demand another explanation, but he started at the approaching shadow he caught in Reanur's eyes, this time not from within, but rather a reflection of someone approaching from behind.  Before he had a chance to even turn around, a piercing pain ripped through his head and as Aragorn and Gandalf continued to fight against the nonstop onslaught, Legolas fell unconscious at the hilt of a sword.  A moment later he, his attacker and Reanur were gone. 

Aragorn spun and stabbed one elf and immediately knocked down another as the distant horizon faded to magenta with the coming of dawn. Gandalf finished off the elves' around him with one fatal swing. Gradually, their attackers thinned out, many of them wisely, but suspiciously deciding to pull away leaving Gandalf and Aragorn alone and out of breath amidst a dozen scattered bodies. 

For a moment they stood, stunned by the sudden attack and perhaps even more stunned by the sudden ending of it.  They caught each others' eyes and immediately the same thought entered their minds. Aragorn straightened and searched the land around him, panic causing his heart to surge and race.

"Legolas!!" 

Gandalf's own eyes jumped from one direction to the next, searching in vain for the elf.  Aragorn sprinted to the spot where he had last seen Legolas and gazed down into the pink river. Nothing. The entire land became as quiet as it had been before the battle, with only the water crying in celebration of the coming of a new day, oblivious to the violence that had just occurred at her feet.  Aragorn angrily sheathed his sword and gave one final cry for the elf.

"They came for him Aragorn. They kept us occupied so they could get him. It is why they decided to leave so suddenly – they got him." The wizard murmured, his voice low, but steady.

Aragorn turned wildly towards Gandalf, "But how? How could they get him?" he demanded, finding it hard to believe even his own kind could easily capture the nimble elf. 

Gandalf's gaze fell upon the fallen elves. One of them caught his attention and the wizard carefully approached him, his brow furrowing as he leaned in to take a better look at the fair creature, dead by his own staff. 

"I know this elf!" Gandalf whispered his eyes widening. 

Aragorn looked at the wizard who now bent at the elf's side, carefully studying his clothing and weapons. 

"This is one of Thranduil's elves," Gandalf continued, his voice drowned in disbelief. 

Suddenly Aragorn remembered the elf that had been approaching Legolas. Aye, of course! That elf resembled Legolas because they were of the same kin! They were both woodland elves! "And that is why Legolas did not fight back," Aragorn muttered. "He could not fight against his own kind…"

"Making it that much easier to capture him," Gandalf finished, his voice dark and saturated with anger. "_Traitors." The wizard faced Aragorn furiously. "Not easily do elves of any kind betray their king. There is great evil at work here."_

Aragorn kneeled on the ground where Legolas had fought with Reanur and studied its markings. "There was a struggle here…" he murmured. Confusion contorted his face as he tried to make sense of what he saw. "But these markings do not tell the story before us now… Unless my eyes deceive me, it seems Legolas was prevailing…." Then his eyes fell on further tracks behind him and with an angry shout, he bolted up and whistled for the horses. Gandalf raised an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation from the ranger. 

"They attacked him from behind!" Aragorn yelled furiously and he absently grabbed his sword at the ignobility of the attack he had seen written out in the dusty ground.  "He overpowered his initial attacker only to be snuck up on and attacked from behind by one who was too cowardly to fight him face to face!"

Gandalf scowled and swiftly mounted his horse. "Come Aragorn. We will not waste anymore time. Cursed are those who betray their king and cursed are those who win their battles through deceit, but I do not trust this land and it would not surprise me if those who should be cursed are rewarded instead." 

Aragorn quickly climbed upon Neila, but before they rode off, Gandalf placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do not blame yourself Aragorn. We will find him."

Aragorn nodded stiffly and the two set off, following the Celduin River to wherever Legolas may be. The simmering sun finally crept over the horizon, chasing away the night's apparitions and nightmares and bringing truth to yesterday's premonitions.  Thus a new day arose, but in the Rhûn it only brought darkness and in the forest of Mirkwood it went unnoticed.  In neither did it bring hope for the forlorn elves of what only yesterday in their minds was Greenwood the Great. 

**TBC **

**(No, I'm not on speed write (sadly) – this was originally part 2 of the previous chapter; I just figured it would be better separate. And now I must rejoin the real world, so I'm afraid once again the updates may be rather erratic, though I'll try my best to not take too long) **

*meet your battle; the dark elves will not slay us in shadow (yep, I got ambitious and decided to try my hand at elvish – forgive the inevitable mistakes)

*** **well met, son of Thranduil

* fight Legolas!

**From The Silmarillion,Quenta Silmarillion, Of the Flight of the Noldor

**REVIEWER RESPONSES**

I'm not going to go through many individual responses, just some quick words…

I've gotten some excited remarks about the drinking contest between Legolas and Gimli so I wanted to just tell you guys a little more about it– the tiny, little, itsy bitsy clip I saw of it was from National Geographic Behind the Movie for Return of the King. A friend of mine downloaded the clip from a web page, so though I don't know the link, it should be available somewhere in the realms of cyberspace if you try a google search (neither of us are exactly skilled computer hackers, so I can't imagine it would be too hard to find.) In fact, I think she got it from an Orlando Bloom fan page.  It was basically Legolas asking Gimli  " so what is the point of this drinking game" & Gimli tells him "last one standing wins." Hmm… so I wonder who will be the last one standing…  

**Alexa** -Yes, I have to agree with everything you said about the movie – I was very disappointed about a lot of things being cut out, particularly stuff about the Legolas/Gimli friendship, Eowyn & Faramir scenes & the seagulls. The scene I was waiting for in both TTT, the extended TTT, and ROTK was the one where they're leaving Fangorn and Legolas sees the eyes in the trees & wants to go back & Gandalf tells him "Stay Legolas Greenleaf! Now is not your time!" Also the agreement between Legolas & Gimli to visit the caves & the forest after they're done. But I was extremely happy with what he did with the hobbits, especially Pippin. The interaction between Pippin & Gandalf was great and the development of his character was very well done, I thought. Oh, and rumor has it the extended version may be up to 5 hours long (just a rumor of course). But who knows – maybe PJ did film much of the stuff we wanted to see & will include it in the extended version. 

**Badgerlock: **Thank you for the advice! I believe you're right about the names – what I did was (and I should probably go back & erase some of those notes in the early chapters since they're no longer relevant) unknowingly use very famous names from the Silmarillion (since I hadn't yet read it at the time) for every single one of the original characters. It then annoyed the %^$# out of me when I read the Silmarillion, so I changed them all, at the very least to keep myself from getting too confused (very easily done, I assure you).  

**All the regulars** (**RainyDayz,** I do believe Legolas would go that far ;), thank you so so much, I love seeing your names in my inbox! I'm such a cornball, but it makes me so happy to see you guys 

**& all the new people**, thank you also!  I'm so glad you guys found this & had the patience to give it a try, especially since I threw in so many of the dreaded "other characters." **Wellduh, your reviews were very flattering – I'm a big fan of irony, so I like to try to put little bits of it in my story; ****Whipper - your review made perfect sense! I think I'd get bored of him rather quickly if I made him a pure, 100% ass… so I made him only 70-80%....******


	19. Fleeting Hope

**Chapter 19**

**Fleeting Hope**

"To the King! To the King!"

Filinor  raced through the halls gripping tightly to a strap holding a canteen to a lone horse that had just arrived on the footsteps of Thranduil's palace.  Having recognized it as Legolas' horse, he did not hesitate in bringing the creature straight into the halls of Thranduil where normally, no horse traveled. 

"Make way! I must reach the King!" he yelled frustratingly as more woodelves poured into the halls rather than out, curious to see why on Middle Earth a horse had been let into their underground abode.

"What strange guest is this?"

"Dark days these are that even the horses must go underground!"

"Welcome Master horse! Welcome to our halls! We may say they are guarded against all intruders, but that is only a technicality, for all are welcome here!"

"Aye! Dwarves, men and wizards have all been allowed in, so why not horses! They are fine creatures indeed!"

"Aye! And they can come and go as they please – why, even our prisoners come and go as they please!"

Filinor scowled at this last remark as he continued to push through the growing crowd of elves. "Really, you have all seen horses before, there is nothing to see here…" he grumbled. 

"Ai, Elbereth! Is that not Prince Legolas' steed?" 

The halls went deathly quiet at the drop of this line. Filinor straightened and his eyes widened nervously as the attention bestowed upon him and the horse swiftly changed from cheerful amusement to fearful concern. The woodelves now stared at Filinor and the horse as if they were heralds of a great evil.

"Well, now… don't look so grim… It is but a horse, I am sure it is nothing!" Filinor stuttered nervously. When the elves only continued to stare, he sighed and headed towards the throne room. "You worry too much my friends. All will be fine in the end, you'll see…" he muttered.

When he reached the throne room, it was with great relief that he shut the doors behind him, but he quickly groaned inwardly when he remembered the new audience he had traded the old one for. _The King will not be happy at this one…._  Filinor grimaced at the sound of the King's voice.

"Filinor, the halls have gone as quiet as a tomb! What ill news…"

Thranduil's jaw hung open, but no more words escaped as he took in the horse neighing softly within the shadows of his magnificent birches. 

"We found him outside the palace, my King… He seemed quite weary, he must have sprinted much of the way here…" Filinor's voice trailed off as Thranduil slowly approached, wide-eyed and pale as a phantom. Tentatively the King laid a hand upon the horse's muzzle.

"What ill news is this?" he whispered. "My friend! You come without my son – this is an unwelcome sight indeed! What evil have you discovered! What evil have you left my son with!?" he continued in Sindarin. 

Filinor bit his lip and stiffened at the fear and grief he heard in his King's voice. "Um… sir, he also brought with him, this…" he awkwardly interrupted the King's murmurings and held out Gandalf's letter. 

Thranduil gazed at the parchment as if it would burn his hand if he touched it. "I am not very fond of the letters I receive these days," he muttered.

Filinor hesitated and pulled the letter back. "Would you like me to read it King Thranduil?" 

Thranduil frowned and brusquely snatched the letter from Filinor. "Nay Filinor, I will read it myself. Do you think me unable to handle it?  It is but a letter after all…"

When Thranduil unfolded the muddied parchment confusion glazed his features immediately.  Then, slowly, gradually, like dripping honey, anger replaced his confusion.  Filinor shifted nervously and scratched his ear, looking from the horse to the King to his feet, and finally resting his fearful gaze on the King's increasingly livid face, delicately raising an eyebrow as if he were too scared to articulate the actual question of what was in the letter.

Thranduil gaped at the letter which trembled in his hand and looked up again at the horse that neighed awkwardly in the wake of the supernaturally scorched air that unbelievably managed to emanate from the King's searing eyes. He then looked at the letter, which Filinor later claimed began to smoke from the heat radiating from Thranduil's anger, and then again at the poor horse that shifted uncomfortably at once again being the subject of a glare that could quite possibly burn down all of Middle Earth. 

("Why I seriously thought we would all spontaneously combust at that moment like one of Mithrandir's firecrackers!" Filinor would later tell Kariler. "I could feel my own blood begin to boil and I was not even all that upset yet! It was not until Thranduil bellowed 'I WILL RIP THE LIMB OFF EVERY ORC IN MIRKWOOD AND FEED THEM TO THE NAZGUL. AND THEN I WILL FEED THE NAZGUL TO SAURON. AND THEN I WILL FEED SAURON TO THE ORCS AND I WILL CUT UP THE ORCS, USE THEIR LIMBS TO BURN DOWN DOL GULDUR AND THEN I WILL FEED THE CHARRED REMAINS TO THE NAZGUL WHO I WILL THEN USE TO BURN DOWN BARAD DUR!'  that I put two and two together and figured something must have gone dreadfully wrong with Cièdron and Legolas. Oh, and I do believe he could do it Kariler. I do believe he could burn them all and feed them all to each other and then do it again with different positions on the food chain.")  

Bellowing however did not release all of the pent up rage within Thranduil. 

"Filinor, Mithrandir requests more elves.  He senses a plotagainst my warriors, my sons, something brewing in Dol Guldur. He could not stay with Cièdron because Legolas had been lost in a fire and he had to go find him…" Thranduil sneered the words as if they were acid on his tongue. "He believes that something much larger than missing warriors is afoot.  _I _believe we have all been duped."

Filinor cocked his head. "How so?"

Thranduil breathed heavily as he tightly gripped the letter in his hand. "I can sense it. I sensed it all along, only I ignored it. I am a fool, Filinor – I am a fool, and my sons will suffer because of it. Ai, we are all fools."

Filinor nodded slowly. "Well, all is not lost yet… I will assemble a band of reinforcements to head to Dol Guldur.  They can leave immediately sir. How many do you request?"

Thranduil's eyes narrowed again at the parchment. "Forty," he answered without hesitation.  

"And who do you request as a captain?" Filinor continued. 

Thranduil's fist crumbled the paper and he rested his iron eyes on Filinor. 

"I will be their captain," he declared. 

Filinor's eyebrows shot up and he looked at Thranduil as if the elf had just turned into a dwarf. "You… capt.. You will… what?"

"You heard me Filinor. It is my duty as King to see for myself our enemy. I will lead the reinforcements to Dol Guldur."

Filinor staggered. "But sir! King Thranduil…."

"Do not press me Filinor…." Thranduil warned ominously. 

"But sir! What if… what if something should happen?! What if we lose you!? What if this is all part of this plan you speak of! A plan to lure out the sons and then the King!" 

Thranduil took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, low and steady like a drum. 

"There is much more at stake these days than myself. Besides you will not lose me."

Thranduil frowned at Filinor's concerned gaze and placed a hand on the elf's shoulder, a move that somewhat surprised the frazzled elf. "Filinor, you must understand. I am King, but I am also a father. I cannot be a King who sits idly in his palace as evil eats away at his kingdom, nor can I be a father who ignores the pleas of help for his sons."

Filinor nodded slowly, realizing his pleas would only fall on deaf ears. There would be no changing the King's mind now.

"Send word to Lord Elrond, Filinor," Thranduil continued, turning away.  "I would that he too be aware of the dark days that have befallen this land."

* * * * * * 

A pounding headache pressed against Legolas' skull when he finally awoke.  At first just the thought of movement caused his muscles to ache and scream in protest so he lay where he was left, in a small cave on a cold, hard slab of stone.  As for how he got there, that was asking too much of his throbbing mind, so he lay there silently and dumbly, gradually working up the strength to begin to figure out his situation. 

_Aragorn had come to Mirkwood…But since then, much has happened… _

Legolas grimaced as suddenly the floodgates opened in his mind and a torrent of memories of everything that had happened since Aragorn came to Mirkwood beat against his already pained head. Suddenly, he wished he could go back to sleep. __

But alas, sleep would not find the elf now, so instead he tried to sort through the unhappy memories in order to place where he was now. _Cièdron__ and I were fighting… there was a spider…Mithrandir hit me…._

No, that was not right – that had been ages ago - so much had happened since those relatively happy days. _Merion__…This all began with Merionè…There had been wargs… No a fire… I fell! I had fallen down, there was water... _Legolas furrowed his brows and his mind momentarily drifted again to his home and the woodelves' songs floated eerily through his head, as he struggled to remember his fall. 

_Roll-roll-roll-roll_

_Roll-roll-rolling down the hole!_

_Heave ho! Splash plump!_

_Down they go, down they bump!_

Legolas grabbed his forehead with his hand and let out a soft groan.  It seemed so long since he last heard those cheerful songs and though he tried to fight their alluring call, he finally could no longer resist the blithe tunes and he allowed himself to fall back into their warm embrace. 

_Down the swift dark stream you go_

_Back to lands you once did know!_ *

As Legolas mouthed these words, a new memory interrupted his silent song. _If something happens to Legolas while I am trapped here, you will lose both of us!! _

Cièdron's words violently pushed out the hypnotic melody of the Barrel Song, causing Legolas to lurch from the memory. "Cièdron! Ai, what are we doing here?!" he breathed as his eyes snapped open.

But Cièdron was not there.  Legolas' heart beat rapidly as he realized _no one _was there and he jolted up, fretfully scanning his surroundings.  "_Reanur__…"_ Legolas whispered as his mind quickly began to grasp his most recent memories.He had been betrayed – they had all been betrayed!  And Merionè? What of Merionè now? What was it Reanur had said to him of Merionè? Legolas groaned and once again rubbed his temples as if the circular motions of his fingers against his head would somehow organize his tangled thoughts. _You must understand Legolas, we all thought we could escape, but there is no such thing. Once you swear an oath to Sauron, no matter how indirectly, you are never released, no matter where you go!_

As the words reverberated in his mind, Legolas ceased rubbing his temples and again searched his surroundings, panic creeping into his heart as the web of memories slowly untangled and revealed to him all that had happened. 

"Aragorn? Mithrandir?" Legolas finally called softly, hoping that perhaps wherever he now was the wizard and ranger had accompanied him though his instincts told him this was nothing more than a false hope.  Wherever he was, he was alone.  Legolas sat silently for a few moments, his keen eyes focusing on the shred of light that trickled in through the opening of the cave.  The distant murmurings of water caught his attention and he could feel himself once again grow distracted by melodies, this time emanating from the water's sweet, calming whispers.  Legolas shut his eyes and silently mouthed another verse of the Barrel Song.

_Float beyond the world of trees_

_Out into the whispering breeze,_

_Past the rushes, past the reeds,_

_Past the marsh's waving weeds,_

_Through the mist that riseth white_

_Up from mere and pool at night!_

With a sigh, he finally decided to get up and slowly head towards the bright opening when the caves looming walls suddenly seemed to close in on Legolas, igniting a sense of urgency deep within his soul.  Though he began to walk over tentatively and slowly, as he came closer to the light, the walls continued to move in on him causing him to increase his speed with alarm until finally he broke into a sprint, his entire body screaming to release him from the confines of the cave. 

Finally, Legolas escaped the stifling cave and emerged into a deluge of bright, white sunlight. The warmth of it awakened his senses and quickly eased his anxious mind.  When the elf's eyes adjusted to the bright daylight, he caught his breath at the sight before him.  The endless eastern land had been replaced by endless water, calm and still as a mirror against the horizon, gently lapping against a gravelly shore, not far from where he now stood.  

Legolas stared at the water, as enchanted by it as if it were Galadrial's mirror. But the peaceful water contrasted with the air around him which simmered with tension and resentment, though Legolas could not quite place what gave it this feeling.  It was as if he teetered on the edge of reality, as if he had fallen out of the world he had known, felt, heard and tasted in the whimpering trees and Manwe's breaths and landed within its twin - a shadow of reality, a memory that suddenly came alive, seething with all the anger of Morgoth stifled under a thin veil of resentment and hopelessness. _ You do not remember us for thousands of years have passed since we encountered the fork in our destinies – you chose one path and we chose another. And now you have come to us and we shall take you. We shall show you the path you did not take, the songs you did not choose, the dimming light you left behind._

Legolas shook his head, for these voices spoke to him from within like phantoms percolating his brain.  He eyed the water carefully and wondered, absurdly if the voices came from the waves themselves as they washed ghastly, ethereal foam upon the shore only to wipe it away with their next great gulp.  

A strange land this was indeed. Aye, technically speaking it was like any other land – the sky was blue, the sun set and rose periodically, predictably; water, earth, wind and fire retained their same terrible, life-giving identities and yet nothing in them was the same. Nothing reflected Middle Earth – unless perhaps this really was an enchanted mirror - a mirror that reflected an alternate universe that shadowed Middle Earth. __

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" 

Legolas jumped at the question. He reached for his weapon, only to find there was no weapon, and turned towards the cool voice, tinged with a familiar Sindarin accent, fully expecting to find the treacherous Reanur at his side, but to his surprise no one was there.  Legolas narrowed his eyes and searched all around him in confusion. Suddenly, his eyes widened with glittering surprise at the sight of seven Sindarin elves sitting below him in a semi circle, only a couple of meters away, despondently watching the lapping sea breathe gently into the deadened land as silent as stone.  Legolas faltered slightly at the sight of these elves - these warriors. Thranduil's warriors. Though their gaunt faces were barely recognizable, Legolas knew them immediately by name– each and every one.   Aye, he knew those sullen phantoms. But he did not know which one had spoken, for none even seemed capable of a murmur at this point.  

As Legolas' eyes flitted over each one, their faces reflected in the watery depths like wavering images in a stream. Legolas' mind quickly forgot the question that had so startled him.  Even if he did remember it, he could not speak out to inquire which of the elves had spoken up.  It seemed as if someone reached into his throat and pulled whatever breath remained in his lungs as he stared at the wraithlike figures. 

Finally Legolas gathered the courage to speak.  Hundreds of years of unshed tears strangled his voice and the result was a breathless, cracked whisper. 

"What did they do to you?"

A pair of sorrowful eyes rested on the prince, as if struggling to remember where they had last seen that young face. So pale, so emaciated they were by grief, pain and regret.  Legolas shuddered – he had seen this before. He had seen grief take its toll on an elf's soul and eat away at it leaving nothing but a fading mist of what once was the beautiful figure of an elf.  _Ai, Nana, you thought you were not strong enough. But you see? Even the greatest warriors cannot keep their strength in the face of this evil!_

Their large eyes watched Legolas carefully, sorrowfully. _"We cannot fight this any longer… We will die or we will be enslaved. We are lost,"_ they seemed to say to him. Legolas shook his head and slowly backed away. "Nay, this is not real. This is not real," he murmured. "Ven Eru. Suil Ennui, erio thûl lín i faer hen." *

"You should not look at us but at the sea, for it is more beautiful than anything you can find in our faces," the same voice that had spoken before murmured.  Legolas' head snapped towards the voice which came from the dark shadow of a lowered head, the one face he had not yet seen.  The warrior then continued softly. "Prince Legolas… It is not truly you, is it? Ai, I had hoped I would not be seeing you here. I had hoped Merionè would be able to fight it... that he would keep Thranduil from sending anyone after us!" He raised his head and Legolas noticed that though pale and weak, he did not exude the same terrible despair and darkness that emanated from his companions.  Then suddenly Legolas stiffened as he recognized the face. Velsiur.  The third missing captain. Ai! Reanur betrayed them, Merionè's fate was dubious at best – and now what of the third? Had he betrayed them as well? Had he fallen?

Velsiur's eyes cautiously skimmed their surroundings before returning to Legolas. "Legolas, you should not have…" he stopped suddenly and moved his eyes again to the ground, furrowing his brows in frustration. "Nay, there is no time for shoulds…" he sighed to himself.  He then gazed again at Legolas. "Forgive Merionè," he whispered. "He knows not what he does – if he knew where all of this would lead… that you were here now...."

A sudden shuffling of feet caused Velsiur to glance behind him and he stiffened as a tall, wiry elf gradually approached.  "Ai, may Elbereth watch over you," Velsiur muttered. He then looked up at Legolas and spoke rapidly, his voice a feverish hiss that barely rose above the lapping waves of the lake. "Legolas, listen to me. Do not try to save us – whatever you do, whatever they offer, do not take it, do not believe even for a moment that we could be saved, that anyone could be saved – not by them and not by anything you do for them. Just save yourself. Save your hopes, your dreams, what you know of the world and the ideals you left behind when you came into this land and do not let go, not ever, not for anyone – not me, not these doomed spirits, not your family, _not anyone._ For it is all a lie, my Prince. Whatever words that brought you here were lies. _We_" Velsiur emphasized as he motioned to himself and the warriors beside him. "are lies. Phantoms. We cannot be saved because we no longer exist - not for you at least, not for this world. You cannot save _anyone _here for the grace of the Valar does not exist here. They are dead here. But you are not Legolas. You can save yourself."

Legolas stared confusedly at Velsiur, more interested in the fate of this one last captain than in the identity of whoever now approached. A faint glow still radiated from Velsiur's sallow skin and his eyes remained astute and bright as he spoke. "You are not yet lost, Velsiur," Legolas breathlessly returned.

"Nay, Legolas, do not think of me. _I am one_ _of them_."  Velsiur emphasized these words as he pulled his cloak tightly over his shoulders. He quickly assumed the same distraught, hunched over position of the other warriors and fell silent, immediately blending in with the others. 

The approaching elf stopped a few feet from Legolas.  A strange, welcoming smile graced his face and he nodded his head in acknowledgement of Legolas. 

"Welcome, Prince Legolas. I must admit, I am rather surprised to find you here. When I saw Reanur bring you here, I assumed you were but another lonesome woodland elf – imagine my surprise when he informed me you were not a warrior, but the King's son himself! This is truly an honor indeed…" he greeted in the Common Tongue. The elf's voice, laced with a strange accent, was smooth and collected, not unlike Thranduil's velvety imperial voice, though Legolas sensed the sinister undercurrent within the silky stream of seemingly amiable words.  

"Who are you?" Legolas asked suspiciously, not bothering to return the friendly greeting.  At the mention of Reanur, his muscles tensed angrily, but he remained still and calm, naturally retaining his proud stature. 

The other elf raised an eyebrow and bowed his head slightly. "You may call me Rómen," he answered, unaffected by Legolas' discourteous tone of voice.  His gaze rested on the sea and he motioned for Legolas to look at it as well.

"It is but a lake, though they say the Great Sea looks much like this. Have you seen it?"

Legolas slowly shook his head, taken aback by the question and the elf's restrained affableness.  

"Neither have I and I do not suspect I ever will," Rómen sighed. "I shall remain here and fade with this sea, just as your people with fade with your land. You see? We were sundered once, but in the end we will all meet the same fate. We will all fade into memories and soon even those will fade."

Legolas lowered his eyes, unsure of how to respond to the haunting words. He thought of his own memories, his departed kin – would they too fade? He shook his head of the thought – such an idea was impossible! Yet, he could not control the nagging doubt in the back of his mind, the whisperings of the world around him, telling him that his time, his people's time, was quickly drifting away, slowly disappearing from the lands of Middle Earth. __

The elf sighed again and continued, his hazel eyes never leaving the bejeweled surface of the Rhun sea. "I do believe you had it better though. Aye yes, your kind lived in light as we dwelled in shadow. You mourn the passing of your great wood, but you do not know what it is to be forsaken. Your kind was given light, and you kept it to yourself. You did not bring it to these lands, you did not think of these lands, and now He who has promised us light gives you darkness. Alas the sundering of the elves! Alas we shall never share the same light!"

Finally the elf turned to Legolas, his bright eyes gleaming in the shimmering pale light reflected off the water's surface. "But we will all meet the same fates in the end - we will all fade. Aye, light has been promised us, but I do not take it to be everlasting.  We shall have our day, just as you have had yours, and then we too will drift away as the tide of men washes ashore. But you can share in our light while we have it, young Prince. We shall not hide it from you as you have from us. Tell me, does it matter under whose leadership you fade? This world whether it belongs to Men of the West or Men of the East, will never again be yours. Sauron or the Kings of Men.  Gondor or the Easterlings. Tell me what will the role of the elves be? Even your king will fade. Even if the Men of the West prevailed, tell me what place will Thranduil have in this world? But I do not believe that power lies in the West. Not anymore. You would die fighting for her, but you could instead prolong your glory by accepting the offer I have now given you. Accept the light I offer you, the promise I too have taken to heart, and you can share in our glory, fleeting though it may be, rather than die in the shadow that consumes your world as we speak."

Legolas gaped at the elf who then turned and again gazed wistfully at the sea, his long hair flipping in the light breeze. Legolas too turned towards the Sea of the Rhun and for a moment came under her spell.  Something about it seemed so peaceful, so sad… like the coming of winter or his own fading forest.  Yet it also offered a strange sense of respite, an escape, an answer that could calm his aching heart. He now yearned more than ever for days long past, when he was young even by human standards…or at least the Númenoreans' standards – days when he would recline and play under the great trees of Mirkwood with his siblings and his parents nearby, under the warm rays of the sun, without an inkling of concern or foreboding of the dark days that lay ahead.  They now seemed so far away. A sudden chill caused Legolas to shiver.  For the first time in his life, he felt the burden of the years creep upon his back, both the blessing and the curse of the Eldar.  Aye, for the first time ever, he felt _old._  

Rómen's voice, strident against the melodious sea, interrupted Legolas' thoughts. "Legolas. What say you? What path do you now choose?" 

Legolas blinked at the elf, for a moment forgetful of his surroundings and unsettled by his abrupt change in tone. "Choice? Choice… I do not recall you giving me a choice at all…"

Rómen narrowed his eyes and enunciated each word carefully. "Every step you take is a choice, young elf.  I think you know the ground ahead of you, where your feet will next fall – into darkness or light, death or life, slavery or power. I offer you a part in our history. I offer you a choice between defeat and glory."

Legolas held the gaze and chose his next words carefully, aware that his situation was about to rapidly deteriorate as the other elf's peaceful façade began to melt away. "Aye you are right – only I fear our ideas of what is light and what is shadow differ. Your promises lead no where – they provide no ground and I would only fall into darkness," he returned, his features hardening as he regained control of his mind.

The other elf raised an eyebrow and chuckled at these words. "I am afraid you will soon become rather disillusioned…"

Legolas' mind now stubbornly bolted angrily from its pensive slumber. "Nay! I know exactly what Middle Earth is up against! But you do not! Do you not know your own history? That Sauron's promises will only lead your doom!" he spat angrily, his previous peaceful melancholy giving way to heated anger. "Do you not see? Do you not remember? It is Morgoth who has brought you into this shadow to begin with and now you only choose to stay! You believe the same lies that doomed you in the first place…"

The chilled tip of a sword at his throat halted Legolas' tirade. 

"And what would you have us do? What choice would you lay out before us? If you were in our place, to whom would you turn?" The sword lightly drew across the prince's neck.

"You see the truth then. You see it, but you believe the lie," Legolas whispered, unfazed by the sharp tickle against his throat.

The sword stopped and pressed harder into Legolas' throat, though still refraining from drawing blood. Rómen focused his gaze and spoke, his voice low and gruff. "There is naught else to believe when the messengers of Sauron are the very same the Valar have sent."

The words struck Legolas like a wave of ice cold water and he staggered in their wake.  He would have responded had he known _how _to respond. But how does one respond to such enigmatic blasphemy? Such an impossible notion? The riddle burrowed into Legolas' mind and though it made little, nay, no sense at all to him now, as if someone had just told him up was down and down was up, many years later the words would sound to him like an echo at the discovery of Saruman's treachery.  _Even the Maiar are capable of corruption. _ Aye, Rómen was right in one respect then.  Legolas did not know what Middle Earth was up against. Disillusionment hung in his future just as weakness and old age awaited men in their mortal futures.  But as to what or who the elf spoke of now, the time had not yet come to reveal such secrets. Gandalf may one day suspect the duplicity of the other Maiar, but such suspicions were beyond Legolas' own comprehension for now.  Up remained firmly above him and down still pointed toward the ground. He would not let anyone tell him otherwise though gravity seemed to pull him towards the sky and the ground beneath dropped farther away. 

Legolas would not be the only one to face the terrible specter of disillusionment. A world away, Cièdron struggled with his own footing as the gravity of Dol Guldur pulled him closer even as he tried to escape.  As Cièdron and Bratherond strove to sever the magnetism that connected them to Dol Guldur, Merionè slowly grew to accept the inevitable fall that he came ever closer to jumping into.  Thranduil felt as if he were choosing between the ground and the sky as he made his final preparations to leave what was left of his people for what was left of his family.  All of Mirkwood quaked with the coming of war and tremors shook the Kingdom of Gondor as enemies noted a weak spot on the shores of Umbar. A battle awaited the unsuspecting steward of Gondor, though it would take a leader of all men to alert him to this danger – a leader who had only just begun to waken. Meanwhile, in the West, where not a tremor shook the blissful, idyllic fields of the Shire, the greatest power of all – the one thing that could tear Middle Earth apart quicker than any band of Orcs, Easterlings or Corsairs – lay in the tiny hand of an unsuspecting hobbit.  The fires of war were flaring and the war to end all wars loomed upon the races of Middle Earth.  And the one who would own the task of smothering the conflagration had not even yet been born.  

Now in the midst of this growing tempest, Legolas stood at the tip of a sword, his immortal life in the hands of one who heralded the tempest as if it brought with it the rising of a new day – or the long awaited end of the old.    

They stood motionless for what may have well been an eternity, but in reality, no more than a few seconds.  Legolas faltered slightly, his eyes wavering towards the warriors. Velsiur stiffened and pulled the cloak more tightly around his shoulders.  The strange elf that held Legolas at the brink of life or death caught the slight movement in Legolas' eyes and grinned.  "Ah, yes, they have been waiting for you," he whispered. "You see how they waste away? It is because they continue to fight the forces against them since they know not where to turn.  But they would follow their Prince. They can yet be saved if their Prince showed them the way."

Velsiur shifted at these words and shook his head ever so slightly, yet just enough for Legolas to notice.  The winds seemed to increase causing the rippling water to swell in anticipation. 

"They would follow me into the pits of Mordor. But I would not lead them there," Legolas whispered. But despite the strength in his words, his voice faltered ever so slightly, causing the other elf to smirk.

"Or perhaps you will not lead them at all because you fear it.  You will abandon them instead." 

Again Velsiur shifted uncomfortably and lifted his glowing eyes to Legolas, imploring the young elf to remain strong. His cape puffed behind him and the hood slipped off his head revealing his long, yellow hair.

Legolas glanced fleetingly at Velsiur's pale, gaunt face and lifted his chin defiantly. "I will not abandon them."  

Rómen cocked his head and moved closer to Legolas. The sword continued to press into Legolas' neck, forcing the younger elf to back away. "Then you will save them?" Rómen suggested. 

Legolas opened his mouth, but quickly locked it shut without a response. Instead he mustered up as much steadfastness as he possibly could, summoning his father's determined, formidable gaze.  "Not by your standards."

Suddenly, Rómen drew his sword up to Legolas' chin, lifting the elf's head ever so slightly. "There are no other standards here. But I am willing to negotiate. These elves have proven themselves to be magnificent workers, but I would release them from their duties if I could find a worthy enough replacement…."

Legolas eyed the elf carefully as Merionè's warning sounded in his mind. _Whatever you do_, _do not trust any of their promises, do not believe they will keep their word. They will not__. _ His heart clenched in panic as he slowly came to realize how alone he truly was - he now had no one, not his father, his brother, or Aragorn, to turn to – no one to work out a clever scheme with, no one to cover his back.  Whatever decision he made now would be his alone and it seemed not only his fate, but Velsiur's and the warriors', depended on it as well. 

Merionè made it clear their promises were not to be trusted.  But to turn down this trade would be to proclaim his life to be more valuable than the warriors, would it not!? What cowardly prince would abandon his people so easily? _Or what cowardly captain?_Legolas thought sadly as he came to fully understand Merionè's own dire situation – the helplessness the elf must have felt. The helplessness he felt now. Legolas nervously eyed the warriors – a dangerous move that perhaps a more experienced ranger or elven warrior would have avoided for in the fleeting glimpse, Legolas revealed his uncertainty to Rómen.  Thranduil's stone faced determination faltered ever so slightly in the young elf's features and the terror and hesitancy within him shone through like light trickling through the thick canopy of Mirkwood. 

Velsiur too caught Legolas' hesitation and his back straightened, though still he remained silent. 

Rómen lowered his sword and gently turned Legolas' face towards his own, his thin hand as cold against the prince's cheek as the sword was against his neck. "How many warriors is one son of Thranduil worth?" he breathed softly, his eyes glittering as Legolas' own eyes, against his will, shirked the frigid gaze. 

Legolas' mind raced and he desperately sought a way out, yet as the water caressed the back of his feet and his eyes saw nothing beyond but the steep cliffs which gave way to hundreds of miles of wasteland, his hope washed away. He was falling into the same trap as Merionè and he knew it, yet he knew not what else he could possibly do. "What would the terms be?" he finally whispered in response, desperately seeking a way to delay his final decision. 

At this Velsiur's head snapped up and his eyes flashed brightly in contrast to the dull orbs of the other warriors watching this transaction with as much interest as they watched the dead sea before them. 

Rómen grinned hungrily. "The terms? Why, that is simple enough - you pledge your loyalty and we release your kinsmen from their duties to us."

Legolas fell silent and furrowed his brows. Only the gentle splash and slurps of the water filled the winds around them.  "Pledge my loyalty to you?" he repeated slowly.  _I am not the first soul he has asked for. And I would not be the first to give it to him._ _He will use me as he has used Merionè…As he has used Reanur… _

Legolas began to back away, but water soaking through his light boot alerted him to the fact that there was no backing away now. He shook his head, as if trying to make the entire world around him disappear – nay not just the entire world, everything that had happened in these past weeks.  He should not be here! None of them should have ever left Mirkwood! This had all been a terrible mistake – they had been lured into a battle they could not fight. And now what of Cièdron? _He is alone with Merionè._ _He is as alone as I am now. _

 But the time had not come for Legolas to worry about his kin. Alas, the time had come for him to decide his own fate. "No… no, I will not…" he finally breathed as he continued to shake his head.  _I will not be used as a weapon against my father. _

Suddenly, Rómen's features exploded with fury causing Legolas to tense as if he would have to wrestle off the incensed elf in just a matter of moments.  "So be it! You are ours anyway, for there is no escaping here – you had the chance to release them, but now you will waste away with them! If you will not give in voluntarily, then we will force you to! It is no matter to us!" His eyes flashed dangerously and he lowered his voice to a hiss.  "All this way you have come.  All this way, and for what? Your people suffer. Your family suffers. And now what have you accomplished for any of them?"

Legolas narrowed his eyes, struggling to control his screaming mind. "Your words are lies. I will not fall for them." 

Rómen paused and held Legolas' gaze. "You will fall. And your family will fall as well. My words are neither lies nor riddles, they are the truth and it is the truth that you will not accept." He then waited patiently for a response that would not come from Legolas. Finally, after several long moments, he sighed and lowered his sword as he backed away from the water. "Very well then.  I must admit, Legolas, you are no fool.  I see that you have decided these ghosts are not worth the price we ask. But I think I know what you will find worth it." 

Rómen's eyes glittered and a small smile tugged on his lips. "What if I told you we had the power to release one from his oath in return for a new one, a more _valuable _one, from another?"

The blood drained from Legolas' face and Rómen's terrible grin grew. "I have heard that Merionè is with your brother right now, is that not correct?" he asked casually.

"Why should I believe you?" Legolas whispered. 

"Do you have any other choice? Will you take the chance that maybe I am wrong? What if I am right? What if you somehow do escape here later and you find that I was right all along? That we could have released Merionè? That _you_ could have released Merionè?" Rómen raised his sword again and delicately drew it against the neck of one of the doleful warriors. "_Before_ he made the final decision to serve your enemy in the best way he could."

Legolas' eyes widened and for a moment, he thought his knees would give way beneath him.  He imagined his brother alone now with Merionè at the edge of Dol Guldur, unaware of the elf's treachery even as he fell deeper and deeper under the oath's power. Even if Cièdron was aware, Legolas knew his brother could not defend himself against Merionè – his temper and skills may be deadly, but his loyalty to his brethren and his sympathy to Merionè would overcome that.  He would try to help him – he would try and he would only fail for he could never even comprehend the extent of Merionè's fall. Or even if he did, how could he possibly escape now? The thought caused Legolas to tremble uncontrollably and he had to struggle to hold his head high.  Yet Legolas forgot one important factor – Merionè was not alone with Cièdron.  Alas in his panic, he had forgotten Bratherond!  

Sensing Legolas' weakness, Rómen continued, his face brightening in triumph. "In fact, what if I were to give you the option to leave now! Leave and don't give your oath in Merionè's place!" Rómen's laugh grew as Legolas' own trembling increased. "Go find your brother! Go find Merionè! Go! I release you!  A son bringing home the body of his brother will be more than enough to bring down a King when he has already lost his other children!"

The wind now blew in powerful gusts, as if Rómen held sway over the very land itself.  Churning water continued to creep behind Legolas and the elf found it hard to even hold his footing.  Though Velsiur still did not speak, his face betrayed the storm that was brewing within. 

 "Do you swear that Merionè will be released?" Legolas finally responded, his words nearly lost in the chilled gusts.

Rómen's sword dropped by his side and his excited features calmed into a hardened, snake-like smile. "Yes," he answered. 

Legolas gulped and struggled to remain standing. 

"Then I will do it."

The words sparked an explosion, not only in the triumphant eyes of Rómen, but in the body of Velsiur. The captain had been growing increasingly nervous and fidgety as the conversation continued to worsen – these last words however caused him to bolt from his seat like an arrow and before Legolas even knew what was happening, the powerful warrior leapt at him and pushed him down into the wet, gravelly sand and lapping waves, quickly pressing his knife to the prince's throat. 

"I will take your body before they can take your soul_,_" he hissed warningly, pointedly catching Legolas' terrified eyes in a solid gaze. The soft words were lost to the other elf, though they filled Legolas' mind with their intensity.  As the dagger pressed deeper into his skin, Velsiur continued in the same muted hiss, "Do not make my greatest act of loyalty also be my greatest betrayal. Do not have me save the King by killing his son. You do this and both you and Cièdron will die at the hands of your father's own warriors."

A moment later, Velsiur was pried off and the flashing eyes of Rómen replaced Thranduil's warrior's dreadful gaze. Legolas' head spun in confusion and fear as he slowly raised himself from the water.  Rómen turned from Legolas and focused his eyes on Velsiur. To Legolas' surprise, Rómen did not appear surprised or angry at Velsiur's sudden outburst – rather a strange smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth and his eyes glittered wonderingly. 

"Never mind these captains of _ours_. We will address this later – I assure you, you will not have to suffer such a rude outburst again."

Legolas caught his breath and focused his eyes on Rómen as his own muddled mind focused. Scolding himself for even considering to give in to the elf's offers and for having to have Velsiur literally knock some sense into him, he once again gathered together all of his strength in order to address Rómen in a barely controlled voice. "You took these captains with the understanding that you would let the rest of them go. It seems you did not keep that promise and so why should I believe you now. It is not that I thought they are not worth my life. It is that I do not believe a word that you say. My oath would have no bearing on Merionè's."

The other elf laughed treacherously, alarmingly indifferent to Velsiur's interruption and Legolas' renewed strength. "But you are wrong! We did let them go! I am sure you are aware of the numbers of your father's patrols! Far more than just seven, I assure you…"

Legolas stiffened at this seemingly obvious revelation. Of course- there had been nearly fifty braids scattered on Thranduil's magnificent table. _Fifty._ "Where are the rest of them?" he whispered fearfully, his momentary resurgence of strength, tenuous and thin, once again slipping away.

Rómen cocked his head and smiled. "We let them go," he answered simply. 

The words were uttered so lightly and easily, yet they fell heavily on Legolas as if within those words carried the whole terrible, leaden truth of their fates – of the captains' fates, of _his _fate. For Rómen had worked Legolas into the perfect trap. It no longer mattered whether his words were lies or not! Perhaps, literally they were not lies at all, but either way, they had all been deceived and now there was naught Legolas could do for his brother, for the warriors, for his father, or even for himself.  A few long moments passed as the three stood silently amidst the agitated winds and restless water.  Velsiur bowed his head, as he had nothing more to offer Legolas in the way of help or guidance.  _I will take your body before they take your soul_.  Had it truly reached the point where the only way to maintain his loyalty was through death? Suddenly Legolas remembered his older brothers' own fates. Was that the true reason his brother had died? To save his loyalty? Because he would rather die than be used as a weapon against his own people?

_Nay, not now, now is not my time… _Legolas thought, though as he backed into the waves, the cool water seemed to tell him otherwise.

But there was still a shred of hope. Legolas again eyed Velsiur.  The tall elf shifted uncomfortably and his eyes still avoided the Prince's.  _Do not have me save the King by killing his son._ Aye, even if there was no hope for him, there was hope for his kingdom at least. Velsiur proved it.  As long as others retained the same courage and devotion to Thranduil as Velsiur just exhibited, hope remained for Mirkwood.  Indeed, Velsiur had proven to be the most loyal of all to Mirkwood. He alone would sacrifice all – his life, his warriors' lives, even the Prince's life, for the sake of Thranduil, for the sake of Mirkwood.  Only one oath he had given in his life and only one oath he would take to his death.

Rómen once again spoke up. "Not all were willing to let their patrol go in return for their oath, so we kept them. We kept them so that we could train them to choose the right way," he explained, motioning towards Velsiur and his warriors. "I do think they will come around soon enough though." 

Legolas continued to watch Velsiur carefully, "I would not be so sure of that," he returned. "The true prisoner is the one you released."

Rómen laughed. "Think what you may, but you must remember, Legolas, we are all prisoners and Fate is our gatekeeper. Even _you_ cannot escape her. When this world ends, even your kind will be no better than us." As Rómen spoke, he slowly sheathed his sword and raised his bow and arrow in its place. Legolas stiffened and unconsciously backed further into the water. The waves now lapped against his knees and nipped at his tunic. Velsiur's eyes flashed and his muscles tightened, but before he could move, another elf appeared at his side, grabbing and twisting his arm behind him, and holding a long dagger against his throat. Legolas gasped and stumbled slightly at the sight of the new elf. _Reanur__._

Rómen smirked, though he did not move his eyes from his target. "Besides, do you mean to tell me of your three captains, Velsiur is the only one who is free? You mean to tell me he is freer than Reanur is now? Than Merionè? You mean to tell me Velsiur's warriors are freer than Merionè's and Reanur's?"  Rómen pulled at the string, his arrow pointed straight at Legolas' heart. 

"Fifty braids were brought to us!" Legolas yelled, his frustration now building inside of him like a storm. "If you claim they are free, then where are they now?!"

Rómen's eyes sparkled. "It is as I said, we let them go. We let them go, but they chose to stay."

Reanur's gaze fell to the ground and his knife quivered against Velsiur's neck from his trembling hand. "A warrior's fate is always tied to his captain, Legolas.  Their loyalty lies wherever their captain's loyalty lies," he said softly.  

Legolas' steely gaze froze on Reanur. He had not noticed before how thin and weak the elf now appeared.  Dark shadows framed dull eyes embedded between sharp cheekbones. Not only his hand, but his entire body shook softly from a sickly, nervous tremor.  Behind him, more elves emerged, all just as sickly looking. All Thranduil's warriors.__

"Oltho vae ne fuin hen_,_Velsiur," Rómen whispered.  Legolas' gaze quickly broke away from Reanur just in time to see Rómen change his aim and release the arrow. ***

Legolas' cry was lost in the strengthening breezes as Velsiur collapsed into a writhing heap. A moment later, he was still except for the gentle undulations of his silky hair in the cursed wind of the Rhun.  Whatever fleeting hope Legolas held fled away with the last breath of Velsiur.__

Reanur's face paled and he gaped in shock at his dead companion at his feet. Rómen laughed at this and turned to Legolas, holding the elf's gaze with his own terrible eyes as he sardonically sang,

"_Down the swift dark stream you go, back to lands you once did know_." 

**TBD**

*** **Taken straight from The Hobbit

**May Eru protect us. Western Winds, may your breath lift this spirit

*** May you dream well tonight, Velsiur

Thank you all for your so very very very kind words! 

Alexa, I loooooove the King Arthur stories – The Mists Of Avalon is one of my favorite books. Do tell me more about this movie that's in the works! I hope it's a good one – I've been very disappointed with past adaptations (ok so I've only seen 2, but neither were very good). 


	20. The Lands They Once Did Know

**Chapter 21 **

_And so desiring above all to sow fear and disunion among the Eldar, he commanded the Orcs to take alive any of them that they could bring...and some he so daunted by the terror of his eyes that they needed no chains more, but walked ever in fear of him, doing his will wherever they might be…*_****

**The Lands They Once Did Know**

 "Lost elves. That is what they are known as. Lost elves, the unwilling, those who refused the summons…. Very little is known of these creatures, these kin of the Western elves- in a way our own kin, though so many years sundered from our world.  Some say the Valar have punished them for not trusting the summons, though I do not believe the Valar to be so merciless. Some say also that Melkor corrupted some of them to create his Orcs. I wager this is true."

Aragorn nodded as he stroked his horse which continued to drink heartily from the River Celduin. After an entire day of traveling, against the protests of Aragorn, Gandalf had insisted on a short break to at the very least allow the horses to drink.  "And how would you explain what just happened? Why our _kin_ decided to attack us?" 

Gandalf furrowed his brows and patted his horse in a sign that the break had ended and it was time to resume their journey. "I say kin loosely when referring to the Avari, though unfortunately in this case, I need not even say it loosely, for it literally was Legolas' own kin who attacked!" Though Gandalf controlled the rage in his voice, Aragorn could easily sense the underlying tension as the old wizard recounted the past night's events. With a frustrated sigh, he mounted his horse and continued. "The Avari are our kin just as the Easterlings and Haradrim are the kin of the men of the West."

Aragorn frowned and mounted his own steed. "Why stop there? We may as well consider the Orcs our kin as well!" he muttered sarcastically, his muscles involuntarily tensing at the mention of the enemies of Gondor who for so long had tormented that kingdom. 

Gandalf either did not catch the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. "No, no, I would not go so far as the Orcs, Aragorn. The Valar did not create them. I speak only of those races who shared the same maker." 

Aragorn sighed. "Well it does not seem to matter anymore who made us."

Gandalf frowned and peered to the great land ahead of them, where somewhere the young elf he had sworn to Thranduil would one day accomplish something great for Middle Earth, now remained bound. "Aye, the old ties of kinship have long been broken. It is the lure of power that binds so many these days." Gandalf paused and looked pointedly at Aragorn. "But such is not the case for everyone. There are many still who would proudly choose kinship over power – kinship even beyond their own races."

Gandalf turned again and with a swift elvish command, his horse broke into a sprint before Aragorn even had the chance to respond.  But they did not travel long before a crouched figure caught both of their attentions.  Gandalf glanced at Aragorn and as their eyes met, they quickly ordered their horses to hasten towards the figure which quickly revealed himself to be an elf.

Gandalf stopped his horse in front of the elf and leapt off, eyeing carefully the hunched figure who had been in the midst of a fitful coughing rage and thus unable to look up to perceive his new companions. When the coughing subsided, the sickly elf slowly looked up and paled at the sight of the wizard. 

"Ai! Nay! It cannot be! I escaped you! I left.. Ai, alas the powers of the Maiar!" he wailed in Sindarin. 

Gandalf's and Aragorn's eyebrows shot up at this. "You are one of Thranduil's!" Gandalf breathed. He then dug his staff into the ground and leaned forward. "What is this you speak of?! Who have you tried to escape!?"

The elf's eyes widened in slight confusion and then lit up suddenly with realization. "Mithrandir! Mithrandir! Is it truly you!?  Bless Elbereth, then we are saved!"

Gandalf furrowed his brows and banged his staff into the ground in annoyance. "Yes, yes, it is me, though I'm afraid I am no savior… But tell me, who is this you speak of!?"

The elf, lost in his joyous delirium disregarded the wizard's question. "I speak of many things now that hope has found me! Ai, would you believe the stars do not shine here? And the sun does not smile and the moon does not laugh? Nay it is all darkness! Ai, how we have suffered! But you are here now and the sun smiles whenever she shines on the Gray Pilgrim!"

Had Aragorn not been so concerned for Legolas, he would have been charmed by the elf's blissful chatter.  Just as he was about to interrupt and demand the elf for further explanation, the wizard lifted his staff and pressed it firmly into a piece of the elf's tunic holding him tight to the ground, catching the elf's attention and causing him to stop in the middle of his speech.

"Listen, you fool. We have come for Legolas. Now is no time for such whimsical celebrations – now tell me who it was you spoke of!" 

The elf's face quickly dropped. "Legolas? They have Legolas? This is ill news indeed! Then Merionè truly has been taken! Ai! Alas! Alas!"

"What is this about Merionè?" Gandalf demanded crouching down and grabbing the elf by his collar and quickly forgetting his inquiry about who the elf originally thought he was. "Stop wasting my time with your blithering, you fool," he demanded as the elf continued to cry and repeat, 'alas, alas.' Gandalf tightened his grip when the elf did not respond. "Foolish elf! Tell me now what has happened!"

"Ai, Mithrandir, it was awful!" The elf then proceeded to tell Aragorn and Gandalf the entire terrible tale of Merionè's forced betrayal. By the time he was done, Gandalf had released his collar and rose above him, his face long with fear and concern. Aragorn angrily kicked the dirt, sending up a small sandstorm, and peered straight ahead. "I snuck away! I know not how, but I did… I left while the others remained bound… while they suffered and gave in to the terror that daunted them. Ai! It is the terror that binds them!"

Gandalf nodded. "Aye, such are the tales of those all those who fall it seems…And I suppose it was terror that led them to betray their own kin…" 

The elf frowned and shook his head. "Nay, Mithrandir, do not speak of them as traitors… Ai, do not do that…I was lucky…I am lucky to not be among them now…" he whispered before falling into another coughing fit.

Gandalf frowned and turned to Aragorn "They are forming alliances. Sauron is preparing for war," he said quietly, pitifully glancing at the elf who now doubled over in his coughing. "He is spreading lies and false promises to gather his armies – men and elves of the East."

The elf gained control of his coughing and sat up. "Nay, I do not believe he will gain much help from the elves of the East. To be sure, there are few whom we have had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting that will fall in his ranks, but I have met others…"

Gandalf raised an eyebrow, but did not inquire further about the others the elf claimed to have met. "Yes, well elves are not as easily corrupted as men… But the fact that Sauron would try… the fact that he is already acting on plans to take Mirkwood…"

Aragorn narrowed his eyes and gripped his sword. "Aye, Gandalf I know what it is you are thinking of....And I too do not believe Saruman was correct – it did not pass over the sea and Sauron knows this." Aragorn unsheathed his sword and stood but a foot away from Gandalf. "He thinks it is in Mirkwood," he hissed. "That is why he has sent the Nazgûl back to Dol Guldur. That is why he now beseeches these elves to join in his battle against Thranduil. His strength grows because _it _has not left Middle Earth."

Gandalf held Aragorn's gaze and slowly nodded. "Aye, he knows it is near…Saruman was indeed mistaken…It is here…" he slowly repeated.  

Aragorn broke away from Gandalf's gaze and again looked ahead. "But that is not what concerns me at this moment Gandalf." 

Gandalf raised an eyebrow and Aragorn once again faced him as the ranger continued softly, "I worry now about the fates of two young elves." 

Gandalf nodded and a determined look chased away his pensive façade. "Aye, Aragorn, as do I." 

Gandalf then turned again towards the skeletal elf, who gaped at the wizard and man fearfully. "My ears were not meant to hear these tales of wizards and power!" he breathed. "Alas they cannot close of their own will for I fear these legends that are true and the truths that are legends! Ai, is it the ring you speak of? Does _he_ have it?" 

Gandalf's eyes widened and he swiftly rounded on the poor elf, yanking him up and pushing him ahead of him. "Alas for the foolish tongues of woodelves who know not when to speak and speak when they know naught! Do not concern yourself with rings and wizards, concern yourself with your princes for it is they who are in need of your concern!"

With a nod towards Aragorn, the two remounted their horses and Gandalf quickly pulled the elf onto his own steed in front of him.  "On second thought, do concern yourself with wizards, for there is one here who you would be wise to not anger! Lead us from whence you came! Lead us to those who attacked you! To your prince!"

Aragorn pursed his lips, as he felt a pang of pity for the distressed, terribly weakened elf.  But he did not dare question Gandalf's short temper – not now when time was not a luxury any of the travelers from Mirkwood enjoyed – when indeed, time, just like everything else they had encountered, was not on their side. In a few moments, they were off again into the strange lands of the East - as Gandalf had said – the lands of what once was their kin. The lands they once did know.

* * * * *

Legolas gaped at the fallen captain, Velsiur, not fully believing he could actually be dead. Nay, elves could not die so easily! This was not at all how they were supposed to die! Their immortal lives could not simply be cut off like a snapping of a thread by the reckless, merciless hands of one so cruel, so capricious.  If elves died, they died valiantly, gloriously, in the midst of battle, when no other way remained but the frighteningly magnificent path to Mandos' halls – they did not simply _collapse_ with one fatal, deceitful shot – not without a fight, not when they were not yet ready! The cold wind laughed at Legolas, mocking the young elf's innocence. _What? You have never seen one of your kind die before?_, she seemed to condescendingly ask. _Do you base your knowledge on mere tales and legends?_ _What your __Ada__ has told you? What you have heard in Filinor's blithe songs and ridiculous rhymes? _Legolas struggled, but could not take his eyes away from Velsiur's lifeless body - the blank face, cold hands, the glossy _eyes –_eyes that saw no more, and revealed no more brilliance from within. The wind continued her taunting song. _Do you think your brothers' deaths were any different? This is death. This is what it is to die. It is not glorious, it is not magnificent. It is a curtain pulled over the eyes – it is the soul's final departure and all that is left is an empty shell.  Death *is* cruel. Death *is* capricious. She is cruel because she rips one away from this world regardless of whether they are ready for the journey. She is capricious because she cares not how she rips one away from this world. _Legolas gulped and shut his eyes to this nightmare. 

"Yes, you too are capable of death," Rómen breathed. Legolas' eyes snapped open, as he suddenly remembered the presence of Velsiur's murderer. He stiffened and mustered a cold glare which Rómen ignored as he silently turned and walked towards the lifeless body.  "Bind him," Rómen ordered as he approached Reanur. He kicked aside the limp, dead body of Velsiur like a discarded ragdoll.  When he passed Reanur, their eyes met and Thranduil's captain visibly cowered in the harsh glare. When he did not answer Rómen's request to bind Legolas, Rómen swiftly turned on his heel and stared straight at Reanur with piercing eyes that could rival any dagger. "_I said bind him," _he enunciated threateningly. With a cry, Reanur suddenly grabbed his head in pain and nearly fell to his knees, as if Rómen's words had in fact pervaded his body with their poison. 

"You know the hallucinations will stop if you just give in to them…" Rómen whispered, a sneer tugging at his lips. 

Reanur gritted his teeth and continued to grab his head fitfully. "Aye, give in and become a monster! A monster who would kill his own kin, who would betray…Ai! Velsiur! Forgive me!" he finally wailed in anguish. "Prince Legolas, I.."

A mercilessly tight grip suddenly choked Reanur. Rómen dug his fingers into his neck, threatening to strangle the elf. "What you do not do consciously, the hallucinations will do for you… You know that!" he hissed. 

Legolas quickly noted the small opportunity that had arisen as Rómen continued to address Reanur, his attention diverted from the prince. With his mind racing, Legolas carefully eyed the sharp rocks scattered about the shore and quickly but quietly waded out of the water. Death may be capricious, but she need not be inevitable.  Legolas furrowed his brows and his muscles tensed with renewed determination. Cièdron would not meet Velsiur's fate.  Death would not take him. Not without taking Legolas first. _Ai, Cièdron, Velsiur died to prevent me from giving in. Forgive me – I cannot now release Merionè… Not *that* way at least…But I will reach you brother, or I will die trying. _

It was a hopeless attempt, but anyone watching would have admired the audacity and determination of the young elf.  Even the warriors that stood in the distance -Velsiur's warriors who now stood on the edge of death – still retained just enough life in them to watch their prince with the faintest possible hint of awe as he crouched and cautiously reached for one of the razor sharp rocks, glancing nervously at the turned form of Rómen.  Reanur's own patrol, weakened and gaunt, but not nearly as frail as Velsiur's, also watched quietly. A few fingered their weapons nervously. Legolas remembered what Reanur had said. _A warrior's fate is always tied to his captain, Legolas.  Their loyalty lies wherever their captain's loyalty lies_.  Did this mean Velsiur's death would cause his own patrol to wither away? One look at the group answered this question. Yet, those that would fade away now would avoid the chains and slavery of Sauron later.  Indeed, Velsiur had rescued them by killing them for the others faced a fate even worse than death. But of greater concern now was the loyalty of Reanur's elves. Would Legolas have to fight them as well? He glanced again doubtfully at the sharpened rocks. _Well, if I must fight them, better with a pitiable excuse for a weapon than none at all…_

As Rómen grabbed Reanur's neck, Legolas laid his long fingers over the smooth, water eroded edges of a glistening wet stone.  He closed his hand around it, gripping it tightly despite the sharp edges digging painfully into his skin, as Rómen tightened his own hand enough to leave bruises in the captain's neck.  Legolas then straightened before slowly creeping towards Rómen.  The wind continued her taunting. _Death is cruel. Death is capricious. Will you now be the instrument with which she plays her deadly song?  _Legolas bit his lip. Could he do it? Could he kill one of his own kind? He glanced at the flaxen hair, the pointy ears, and the lithe, beautiful figure of Rómen. Fate had separated them thousands of years ago – had either of their ancestors chosen a different path, they perhaps would be of the same kin now. It certainly was not too far a stretch to imagine this elf at home in the woods of Imladris or Mirkwood or Lórien.  Nor was it a stretch to imagine the Rhun Sea developing into a world as ethereal as Imladris or Lórien – if only the Valar had blessed it so. _Or if only it had one of the rings… _Legolas paused at this thought – ai, in that sense, the Rhun elves and the elves of Mirkwood did have something in common. They struggled – they struggled for their mere existence while other elven lands flourished under the protection of the rings.  For a moment Legolas' grip on the stone loosened.  They were deceived – they thought Sauron, or whoever Sauron chose as his agent in these lands, would bring to them what the Valar did not.  Rómen's own words echoed in his mind. "_If you were in our place, to whom would you turn?"_

But a fleeting glimpse at Velsiur stifled any doubts that welled up in Legolas' heart. This _monster_ was not of his kind.  The woodelves struggled to their deaths, but they did not so easily give in to the alluring promises of Sauron! Nay, if they gave in at all, it was out of a love for their kin! And they would not resent the elves of Imladris and Lórien for their blessings the way these elves resented him for his. Legolas again tightened his grip and crept closer to Rómen – whatever empathy he felt washed away with the angry tides of the sea behind him.  _We were once one, but now our paths have been sundered. One chose darkness and the other chose light.  It is not I who chose wrongly…._

But suddenly, Rómen dropped his hand from Reanur's neck and swiveled smoothly around so that he directly faced Legolas.  Legolas matched the elf in his reflexes and instantly hid the rock behind his back. He stiffened and coolly held the Avari elf's scorching gaze. 

"Is it revenge you are looking for?" Rómen inquired calmly. His eyes fell on Legolas' arm and he smirked upon seeing the elf shift awkwardly like a child caught stealing candy. "Don't think it would be that easy, little one," he purred as he slowly approached. Legolas again shifted uncomfortably, but he refused to back away this time.  Rather he decided to stand firmly in place, out of the seething water and within the seething reach of Rómen.  As he continued to hold his ground, his courage fought back whatever doubt lodged in his heart.  Aye, he may only have a sharp stone, but after all a knife was really nothing more but a sharp piece of metal - a sword, a slightly longer piece of metal. If he could fight with a knife, then why not this stone? Why couldn't he take down Rómen right here, just as he took down dozens of Orcs and spiders, just as he overtook Reanur? Rómen smiled. "We all want revenge against someone, don't we? 'Tis a shame, for I do believe it is ourselves we have to blame for our ill fates…"

Legolas started and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. But he had no time to question Rómen as the sharp tip of a sword suddenly punctured his shoulder. Gasping in shock, the elf fell to his knees in pain, dropping the stone to his side.  Though Reanur tensed, he remained still, shutting his eyes tightly and grabbing his head as if to control its spinning.  The other warriors continued to watch nervously, fear clouding their eyes. 

"Do you think your kind so strong? So powerful? So blessed?" Rómen seethed angrily as he cruelly twisted his sword before yanking it out. Though the wound was not mortally deep, Legolas cried out in pain before being roughly grabbed by the collar and pulled up so that he was face to face with the pitiless Rómen who grabbed Legolas' only hope for a weapon and now lightly traced it along the elf's cheek.

"See how easily they give in," he whispered as he pushed Legolas' face with the stone towards a trembling Reanur. "See the terror in his eyes. See how he needs chains no more…You will soon be that way as well, regardless of whether you give in."

Legolas gritted his teeth and fought against the ripping pain in his shoulder, but he could not control the fuzzy lightheadedness that washed over his mind and clouded his thoughts. Rómen grinned and pulled Legolas closer to him, pressing the stone into his cheek and tickling his ear with his hot breath. His next words, barely audible among the gusty winds, stormy sea, and muffled cries in Legolas' own mind, drove away all sensation of pain as if Death had now decided to free Legolas' soul from his battered body with the terrible words she whispered through Rómen.

"Your brother is as good as dead and it was you who abandoned him to it."

"NO!" Legolas choked on his cry as he lurched against the elf. He fought his own screaming mind, telling himself Rómen spoke naught but lies and would continue to do so until he gave in. _Do not believe them! Do not fall victim to his words which are even more powerful than his weapons! _ Rómen swiftly kicked Legolas in the stomach, knocking what little breath was left out of his lungs and causing Legolas to double over and fall limply to his knees.

Suddenly, Rómen released his grip on Legolas' collar and as the elf collapsed, he roughly ripped off his blood stained cloak, tossing it lightly to Reanur.  As he struggled for breath, Legolas pushed himself up with one arm watching worriedly as Reanur easily caught his cloak. 

"Master Reanur," Rómen called. Reanur slowly straightened, his dazed face revealing his bewilderment and inner torment. He tentatively eyed the cloak as if he did not even realize he had caught it. He paused as his hands lightly touched the red stain, still warm and moist with the blood of Thranduil's son.  Rómen cocked his head and observed Reanur with some amusement.

"I release you Reanur. I release you so that you may return to your King. Be sure to show him that," he airily ordered as he motioned towards the cloak. 

Legolas forced himself to his knees and as his mind began to process Rómen's cruel plan, he faintly shook his head as if this show of protest was all his exhausted, beaten body could muster. Again the wind sung her taunts.  _You have fallen. And you have now brought your father down with you. _

Reanur looked up in shock and gaped at the other elf. "You… you what?" 

Rómen smiled and turned again towards Legolas. "You heard me. I order you to return to your King. Bring them with you as well," he continued indicating the Velsiur's warriors behind him with a careless wave of his hand.  "But only them. I keep yours and Merionè's… Tell your King his _son _freed you…"

Legolas' eyes widened and he again attempted to raise himself off his knees, but it was Reanur who protested as Legolas pathetically stumbled to the ground, the pain in his shoulder rapidly becoming unbearable. 

"Bring them? But they are practically dead! They will never make it!" Reanur exclaimed.  Sensing they were the subject of the current conversation a few warriors weakly eyed the two elves. The others apathetically gazed at their suffering prince as he keeled over, coughing and grasping his shoulder, shaking his head pitifully.

Rómen however was unaffected by this plea and he offhandedly kicked Legolas as the elf tried again to bring himself to his knees. "Ah, yes. I am sure your King will be very proud of the bargaining skills of his son – a couple of dead warriors and one traitor for a perfectly healthy young prince. Yes, he will be proud indeed. Perhaps you can make his day even brighter by finding Merionè on the way and bringing back his other son!"

Legolas gritted his teeth and forced himself to his knees, fighting back every screaming impulse in his body to collapse to the ground. "But I did not do it!" he gasped in a voice that was raspy and weak. "I did not give you my word! I did not say it! _I did not swear it_!" 

Rómen dropped the sword and once again grabbed and twisted Legolas' collar, nearly choking the elf. His voice still remained airy and calm as he addressed him. "A mere technicality which will soon be remedied, I assure you," he droned.  He then twisted the collar so tight, Legolas began to gag from loss of breath. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Rómen let go and let the elf fall heavily to the ground. The afternoon tide began to once again creep up on Legolas, nipping at his prone body and carrying back with her red, trails of blood seeping from his shoulder.

Rómen studied the gasping, writhing elf and allowed the stormy winds to speak for him before he finally added casually, "Besides, it is not _your _oath that I now seek."

Legolas paled and shook his head, "No… no… he would never…" he whispered breathlessly. The waves continued to eat away at him, echoing pitilessly the wind's laughing condescension.

Rómen grinned hungrily and turned towards a new elf who had tentatively approached the group with a curious, but cautious gleam in his magnificent emerald eyes. Legolas stiffened as he immediately recognized the elf as the one he and Aragorn had run into in the wasteland of the Rhun. 

"Ah! Look who decided to show up! Long time, no see, Ereb," Rómen laughed. The other elf narrowed his eyes and backed away slightly, clearly regretting that he ever gave in to his curiosity.  Legolas frowned and cocked his head curiously at the elf's strange name, but as he gasped again for breath and choked on the rising water, his mind quickly forgot about the newcomer.__

"I want no part of this…" the elf stated firmly in his own language which bore a faint resemblance to that of the high elves. 

Rómen frowned and answered in the same strange language. "Ah come now, Ereb. Do not make me question where your loyalty lies…"

Ereb's frown deepened, but he did not respond, instead gazing warily at Legolas. He shook his head lightly, almost sympathetically, and for a moment, a faint hope lightened Legolas' heart and he bit his lip in an attempt to quell a sudden urge to call out to this elf and beg him for mercy – and to control the rising bile in his stomach. As he fell into a fit of heaving, his mind fell in and out of consciousness, barely taking in the conversation above him.

"Take him and watch over him Ereb while I go seek the _Ithryn Luin _and let him know of all that has occurred here," Rómen finally ordered in the common tongue.  

"I told you I want no part in this," Ereb angrily returned, his soft voice now rising with his irritation. "I do not want any part in your wars."

An enraged flash brightened Rómen's eyes, but he kept his anger carefully under control. "You do not have a choice. These are not _my _wars. They are far bigger than that. Your kind can no longer live in isolation. You can no longer wander these lands alone, for you are a part of something much larger than yourself! You are part of something that involves all of Middle Earth! Unless you leave Middle Earth, you _will _have a part in these wars, whether you want it or not! For there will soon be no land for you to wander through if you do not fight for it!" 

Ereb narrowed his eyes skeptically, but with a resigned sigh he finally walked gracefully over to where Legolas was now kneeling. He studied the injured prince for a moment before squatting and gazing curiously into his eyes.  Legolas vainly tried to read the elf's steady gaze, but naught was revealed in the glossy green depths. "Fool Teler," Ereb finally whispered as he held a knife up to his throat. "You will come with me."

"Reanur!" Rómen called suddenly, satisfied with Ereb's obedience. Reanur, who had been watching this new elf, lethargically turned to Rómen. "Tell me, Reanur, how do you bring down a King?"

Reanur raised his eyebrows, but did not answer. With a cruel laugh, Rómen looked straight at Legolas and stridently enunciated each word. "First you bring down his sons. One – by – one." 

Again Legolas lurched forward, but Ereb's knife stopped him.  "Do not be the fool again," he murmured, glancing disdainfully at Rómen who now laughed heartily at his own riddle as he casually strolled away from the group.  Reanur awkwardly stared again at the cape and then glanced at Legolas. 

"Don't do it! Don't go Reanur," Legolas practically whimpered, ignoring the sharp edge of Ereb's knife tickling his throat. 

A strange expression twisted Reanur's features and shaking his head, as if confused by Legolas' request, he tucked the cape into his pack and faced the other warriors. "My friends! We are free!" he yelled. "We must return now to Mirkwood!"  

Legolas again attempted to move forward, only to be once again stopped by the sharp tip at his throat. "Reanur! You are not free!" he cried desperately. 

Reanur turned again and considered the prince.  For a fleeting moment, doubt colored his eyes, and he looked as if he would change his mind and help Legolas.  But before Legolas could speak again, a rough hand pulled him up. 

"Enough," Ereb said firmly as he pushed Legolas ahead and pressed his knife into his back. "Your foolishness has caused enough problems for you and for me," he muttered.  

Reanur watched for a moment before turning again to the warriors. "Come, we will leave now," he ordered. Though he could barely walk, Legolas again tried to escape Ereb's direction, but the moment he stepped towards Reanur, a sharp pull on his tunic held him back.  But even this pathetic effort at escape was too much for Legolas' injured body and he stumbled again to his knees, much to the annoyance of Ereb. 

"Get up!" he ordered kicking him lightly on the side. 

As delusion settled in, Legolas faintly nodded his head in obedience, but when he tried to push himself up, nausea pulled him back down as his eyes blurred and darkness slowly took his mind. _Get away from here Cièdron, run away, _he mouthed silently, resigning finally to telepathy since so many obstacles now blocked his escape from the Rhun and now stood between him and his brother. 

Ereb however had no patience for such pleas and stalling. "_Get up! Get up Teler!" _

The distant commands quickly became too much for Legolas to process.  Though he nodded his head he gave up in his struggle to stand. One more angry, but light kick knocked Legolas to the ground and whatever control he had over his mind he lost as he slipped into darkness and fell limply at Ereb's feet, as broken and hopeless as Velsiur. 

Reanur paused and stared at the limp prince and then the visibly irked Ereb.  Grumbling, the latter elf bent and lifted Legolas, easily carrying the light figure. "What are you doing?" he then demanded of Rómen. "Go on! You heard Rómen! Tell your King, just as he ordered. Mayhap he will declare war and all of you will fall! Then I will be left in peace!" He then looked down at Legolas and sighed angrily. "Fools you all are indeed…So no world will exist if I do not fight? Little does Rómen know, none of us will exist if we _do _fight!"

Reanur nodded distractedly and turned again towards the warriors, confusion, terror and pain distorting his gaunt face.  He began to walk towards them, but then quickly turned to Ereb. 

"What do you intend to do with him?" he asked suddenly, his voice strained with fear and strife.

Ereb cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. "_I _intend nothing."

Reanur stood still for several moments. He then suggested weakly, "Perhaps you could give him to me then…perhaps I could take him home…" 

Ereb started at this and then burst into an uncharacteristic laugh. "You would kill him before you got within one hundred leagues of your home! You fell! You fell before you even fought! The terror within you bound you to perform _his _will!" he then paused and considered the blank face of Legolas who rested comfortably, almost trustingly in his arms. "I intend nothing," he repeated softly. "I only wish to survive." He looked up again at Reanur, who stood stonily in the gusty winds. "Just like you," he added pointedly. "We sell our souls to survive. And then we must survive for who knows what the fates have in store for us should we die. Nay, you cannot take him, for that would mean certain death for him _and _certain death for me – Rómen after all is not such a fool."

Reanur nodded and again turned towards the warriors.  The Rhun fell silent around them, quietly agreeing with Ereb's words.  A setting sun cast strange colors and shadows upon the two figures and the pallid, sickly form of Legolas.  

"Aye, no choice…" Reanur muttered. "There is no way to go now but down.  Only a total surrender to the vertigo that pulls me will save my mortality now.  My soul is already lost. Alas the oaths that bind us. Alas the only escape is an impossible path to choose. Alas I do not have the strength to choose death."  
  


With a sigh, Reanur gave one more fleeting glimpse at Legolas, "Alas his strength will only bring him pain. _If I will not give in, the hallucinations will pull me in._" He shut his eyes briefly at these last words and then jogged towards the warriors, quickly spurting demands to gather horses to leave this cursed land and return home.

Ereb watched apathetically as Reanur gathered the warriors and prepared to leave. With another sigh, he glanced at the elf in his arms and frowned upon noting the growing red stain on his shoulder.  "Curse the day Pallando came to these lands," he breathed as he shifted Legolas' weight and headed towards the towering cliffs overlooking the sea. 

"Curse the chains that bind all of us."

**TBC**

*** from The Silmarillion, _Of the Return of the Noldor_**

**Thank you everyone for your reviews and the emails pestering me to continue! I apologize for the extremely lengthy delay – I had an insane amount of work these past couple of months and much to sort out with this story. The next chapter will come shortly though, I promise – I have three other unlucky elves I have to take care of after all! __**


	21. Running to Stand Still

**Chapter 20: Running to Stand Still  **

* * * * *

_"The King has fallen!! Alas, alas! He has fallen! King Oropher is slain!" _

Heaving, Merionè pulled his bloody sword from the writhing body of a dying Orc.  As he struggled to catch his breath, he turned towards the panicked cries, not fully processing the actual words.  The dancing shadows that had only just a few moments ago accompanied the clashing of weapons and puncturing of flesh, gave way now to scatterings of light and darkness as the late afternoon sun neared the end of its daily journey, leaving only a faint, pastel landscape with none left alive to interrupt the rays' paths.  As he pushed a lock of bloodied, yellowish-white hair out of his eyes, Merionè peered at the deceased beasts around him. They may have fallen by his own hand, but Merionè had fought too many battles to be comforted by seemingly still bodies.  Slowly and gingerly he stepped through the gruesome mess, ready to strike out at any who may still show a sign of life. 

But thankfully the fierce storm had subsided, after many long days and nights of her treacherous onslaughts of Orcs and wargs terrorizing the mighty forest of Greenwood.  A King of Men had felled Sauron in the distant land of Mordor where Oropher currently led a large army of elves - or so Merionè had heard, though not until now that the calming breezes whispered songs of a long awaited peace, did he finally start to believe it.  _Could it be my time here is done? _Merionè thought as he kicked aside an Orc, assuring himself the foul creature no longer breathed.  At Gil-galad's and Cirdan's request, he had traveled to Greenwood to help the small population of Sindarin and Sylvan elves defend the newly founded forest of Greenwood from the armies of Sauron as Oropher and much of his elves went East to join in the Last Alliance.  During the endless days and nights of battle, he had grown fond of those he fought aside, the formidable, resolute, proud elves of Oropher – the few that stayed behind to protect their kingdom as their King fought in battles greater than they could ever imagine. Indeed, though relieved the battle was finally coming to an end, a part of him regretted the upcoming parting of ways with King Oropher's elves.  He had even become enamored by Greenwood itself – the great wood, imperial with her emerald green trimmings, grand, radiant beeches and all the warmth and light of the elves that had only just begun to inhabit it, called to him just as the sea always did.  

 "Ai! Ai! King Oropher is slain!" 

Merionè gasped and quickly looked up. _Slain?! Nay, it could not be!_  Paying no heed to the blood streaming from his own multiple wounds, his continuing search for live Orcs and the much awaited brightening sun, he broke into a frantic sprint towards the source of the cries through a labyrinth of great beeches and over the bloodied bodies of wounded Orcs and elves. 

Suddenly, Merionè came upon a great clearing where he skidded to a stop and his fair face, stained and bruised, froze into a terrified gape.  He then fell to his knees amidst a sea of broken bodies, strewn across the earth like dead fish thrown on the beach by fishermen emptying their nets.  But a closer look revealed these bodies were not so carelessly strewn, but rather carefully laid down, their hands folded over their bodies.  More warriors on horseback rode into the clearing, leading horses behind them carrying two or even three bodies. Merionè shook his head in disbelief. "Ai! More return dead than alive!"

One warrior rode up to Merionè and leapt gracefully off of his horse. "Aye, it is Thranduil's orders that we bring them all back. He wished not to leave them in that cursed land."

Merionè's heart stopped at the mention of Thranduil's name. _Thranduil's_orders. Alas! He had forgotten the cries that brought him to this clearing! "King Oropher?" he breathed quietly.

The warrior bowed his head and mouthed a quick prayer before answering, "Thranduil is bringing him."

A deep frown creased Merionè's young face and he once again had to push away a strand of stiff, bloodied hair as he looked away, watching distractedly as the warriors of Mordor continued to lay the bodies before him.  He shook his head again. "So many… so many keep coming…"

"Aye, but it is in victory they return. Sauron is defeated," the warrior returned, though his voice wavered slightly as if he still had to convince himself that Sauron was actually defeated. That the battle had been worth it.

Merionè fell against his heels and dropped his sword to his side. "Defeated…" he echoed faintly.  

Suddenly, the elves fell still and silent and those who still remained on their horses quickly dismounted and fell to their knees with the rest of their companions. Merionè followed their gaze and watched in awe as one magnificent horse, followed by six others, slowly entered the clearing. Upon the front horse rode an elf who though visibly weary, radiated imperially through his mournful visage. The elves bowed their heads as he approached.  Meione however could not tear his eyes away from this image of Oropher.  How the son resembled his father!  Indeed, Thranduil even shared his father's perfect, confident posture and steady, commanding gaze. When he stood well within the clearing he considered the genuflecting elves warily and then dismounted and faced the other three who followed him.  One of the horses had no rider, but pulled behind it a cart draped in silky cloths. The four elves on the other horses quickly dismounted and released the cart from the horse.  They bent over the body in the cart and carefully lifted him on their shoulders.  Quietly, they then walked ahead of the horses and into the midst of the clearing where they were surrounded by the few who had survived both the war in Mordor and the battle within their own wood. 

An eerie lament filled the air and the entire wood fell silent in mourning.  The trees glowed through the ephemeral mist as if the souls of all those who had died infiltrated the pearly bark and emerald leaves, causing them to glow radiantly in adoration of their fallen King. Such a phantasmal jewel this forest was indeed – almost surreal in her otherworldly splendor – fitting for a King who was destined for immortality, if not in his physical form, then in the enduring legends of the future generations of spritely woodelves and the spirits of his own kin. His son. His grandson. 

Captivated and heartbroken, Merionè watched the  King, still beautiful, still radiating with unyielding courage and power, ignore the cries and sobs of his people below him as he lay dead upon the shoulders of the few victorious warriors of Greenwood.  The very few. As he let out his own choked sobs, Merionè turned his gaze to the King's son who now kneeled at the head of his father amidst the strewn bodies of what were now _his _people.  Chills tickled Merionè's spine as he gazed at the still form of Thranduil, his head bowed in mourning for his father. For all Merionè knew, hours, even days could have passed before Thranduil finally raised his head. With control that seemed to outdo even the warriors who quivered ever so slightly with remorse, he eyed the remaining warriors that stood around them.  He then gazed at those who had died for the King, whose spirits now filled the air around them. Ai! So many had died! 

Thranduil's bright eyes rested upon the scattered bodies. Though his face remained stoic, the troubled gleam in his eyes betrayed his grief.  He examined each one carefully, pausing briefly at the ones he recognized, and then with a deep breath he momentarily shut his eyes to the graveyard around him where his beloved father now reigned.  A few other lone warriors crept up beside Merionè and hesitatingly put down their arms as they watched the scene before them.  After so much fighting, so much pain, it was hard to believe the battle was over.  But it was impossible to believe their King was dead.

"Ai! What is left of our people! More have died than have lived!" one elf lamented softly beside Merionè.

Merionè bit his lip and gazed again at Oropher. Having traveled from Cirdan's realm in Lindon, he felt somewhat removed from the Sindarin and Sylvan elves who now mourned one of their own, yet his heart ached with remorse. Such blithe creatures deserved no pain – through so many nights, as Merionè quietly contemplated their dire situation, the woodelves would merrily sing tales and legends of ages past.  Rarely could he resist joining them in their merry-making.  Just to watch them now somberly take in not only their King, but so many of their own kin, brutally slain, broke Merionè's heart.  In years to come, he would continue to watch sadly as the woodelves' blithe nature necessarily grew more suspicious and distrustful, as fate continued to test the bounds of the elves' strained hearts. 

"Alas that the son should carry his father in such a state."

Merionè furrowed his eyebrows at these words and moved his eyes from the King to the warriors beneath him. Thranduil had taken the lead position, stoically shouldering his deceased father. 

_And so begins King Thranduil's reign in __Greenwood__, amidst a dead army.  Valar willing, this will be the last of such wars he will have to see. _

Slowly, the elves walked through the clearing and towards the Forest River whose rapids gurgled musically. The kneeling elves around them rose and followed somberly in this procession.  Merionè too rose and followed the King's final journey.  When they arrived at her banks they paused as two elves quickly appeared with a plank and the same cloth that lay draped over the cart.  All of the other elves bowed their heads and one sang a spine chilling lament as they laid Oropher on the draped plank and wrapped him in the cloth.  A final elf brought forward a flaming torch which he handed to Thranduil. 

Thranduil grasped the torch with hands that quivered ever so slightly and gazed upon the solemn, ghostly figure of his father. The plank lay at edge of the river and its cool water lapped at the silken cloth that draped over the edges.  The elves' lament ceased as they all considered the King's son, his features glowing from the brilliant flame.  Suddenly, he broke into a lament and his strong, beautiful voice filled the entire wood with its mourning.  The elves all fell to their knees and Merionè wondered if like him, they found they no longer has the strength to stand as Thranduil's voice haunted and chilled his very soul.  At the end of the lament, the plank was pushed carefully into the river and Thranduil carefully held the torch over his father, its flames catching on the opalescent cloth. He then placed the torch in his father's hands and allowed the plank to float freely into the rapids.  A moment later, as it floated rapidly down the river's currents, it burst into magnificent flames, a beacon for the remaining elves of Greenwood who stood now at the edge of this river.  Thranduil stood and watched flames until they disappeared over the horizon. Then, with a soft wail, the formidable prince – who now was destined to be a King over a people whose wars had only just begun – collapsed to his knees in uncontrollable grief.  His sobs shook his body and his muffled cries filled the wood.  A few warriors stood over him, their heads still bowed, as the others returned to begin placing the rest of the bodies into the river to follow their King.  Laments continued to haunt the wood as one by one, Greenwood's fallen warriors – the heroes of the War of the Last Alliance, disappeared after their King.  As the last of the dead floated beyond the horizon, Thranduil continued to sob for the father he had lost – too soon, too suddenly.  As the sun slowly began to set, the elves slowly began to disperse. Merionè hesitated as he watched the trembling form of Thranduil, but a light hand on his shoulder gently pushed him away. 

"Come. The son must be given his time to grieve. Only Elbereth can comfort him now."

Merionè nodded and slowly walked away. Indeed, the stars of Elbereth slowly began to peak out and watch the new King of elves mourn his departed father. Their radiant beams shone on his form, causing Thranduil to glow with all of the departed spirits of those who had given their lives so that he could be here now, in the midst of Greenwood the Great, at the brink of a great kingdom to come. 

* * * * *

The next day, Merionè stood aside and gathered his belongings as the woodland elves around him began to resettle into their home and begin their new lives in Greenwood the Great.  The silvery trees glistened in the morning dew which flickered and reflected prismatic rays of light off the smooth lustrous leaves that danced softly in the light breeze, blowing forth from the rich blue sky above – what must indeed have been the face of Manwe himself, for never had a sky appeared so pure and magnificent.  Merionè closed his eyes and breathed in the crisp air, allowing his entire body to relax and lose itself to the melodic songs of larks and bluejays and the fragrant smells of fresh blossoms, their syrupy sweet nectar rich and alluring to the musical bees and hummingbirds. _This must be what Valinor is like. The Valar themselves must have blessed this land! _Merionè thought. 

When he opened his eyes, he noticed with a small start, a tall proud elf approaching him, his golden hair shimmering in the sun's faint rays, and with his own majestic glow.  Merionè quickly fell to his knee and bowed his head in respect to the new King of this enchanted wood. 

Thranduil raised an elegant eyebrow and gazed warmly at the young elf. Only his glittering blue eyes betrayed his slight discomfiture at this display of deference to him.  With a small wave of his hand which seemed to emulate the willowy, graceful waves of the supple branches of the grand trees in the wind, he motioned for Merionè to rise. 

Merionè obediently straightened and met the King's gaze with his own grey-blue eyes. Immediately, he was taken aback by the formidable strength and authority in the young King's eyes – as if Oropher's own soul had immediately found a home within Thranduil. 

Calmly, Thranduil studied Merionè's face for several long moments. Finally, in a velvety, refined voice, he spoke.

"You are one of the very few of our elves who have survived this slaughter and yet you remain in the shadows as if you are undeserving of any credit, any recognition for the victory you have won for our wood while the rest of us fought in Mordor."

Surprised by these words, Merionè took a moment before responding. "My lord… I do not believe merely surviving is any cause for recognition."

"Perhaps not, but that is not what I said," Thranduil responded sternly. "It is the victory, the reclaiming of our wood that is a cause for recognition."

Merionè nodded slowly and gazed at the bright, glistening trees surrounding them. "Aye, it has been an honor to fight for your people," he whispered. 

Thranduil cocked his head and raised both eyebrows at this. "Ai… forgive me…You must be one of the mariners of Lindon, sent to us by Gil-galad and Cirdan…"

Merionè nodded. "Yes, my lord, my name is Merionè Ambaraer. As I said, it has been an honor fighting for your people. For your father."

Thranduil's eyes averted briefly towards the ground at the mention of his father, but he quickly looked up again. "I am sorry for your loss," he then said softly. 

Merionè looked up in confusion and hesitated before he spoke. "Sorry, my lord?" 

Thranduil gazed at him and opened his mouth as if to speak, though no words came forth. He then placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You have not heard then. Gil-galad has been slain."

Merionè gaped at Thranduil and his eyes widened in shock. "No…no, it cannot be…" he breathed.

"Aye, it is… I saw it with my own eyes..."

Merionè shook his head in disbelief. "Nay, not the High-King! It cannot be! Alas these days that our great leaders are slain! Oropher, Gil-galad! Ai, what will become of us?"

Thranduil frowned and gazed quietly at the ground. Immediately regretting his words, Merionè grasped Thranduil's shoulders. "Ai, forgive me, 'tis not what I meant…"

Thranduil shook his head and interrupted, "Nay, Merionè you are right. Our greatest leaders have fallen and now the fate of Middle Earth must fall on the shoulders of those less experienced…" 

The two stood silently for a few moments in mourning of the memory of their great kings. Thranduil was the first to speak. "If it is a release you are waiting for, you need not wait any longer. I am sure Cirdan awaits your return. He will be taking Gil-galad's place as Lord Elrond must remain in Imladris."  The King then studied Merionè carefully and for the first time Merionè noticed the shadows of doubt behind his strong visage – the doubt of a new King, of a son who had just witnessed his father's death, and who now inherited the responsibility of protecting and guiding a battered people, each of whom had lost a loved one – a people who had barely survived themselves. 

Though it is true Merionè had been waiting for permission to leave, now that he had it, an inexplicable reluctance washed over him.  Two thirds of Oropher's army had perished! _Two thirds… _And who was left? A few broken warriors, grieving the loss of their kin and leader… A son who somehow had to build a kingdom for these forlorn elves out of the ashes of this war.  _Nay, this war is not over_, Merionè thought. _Wars do not end with the termination of battles – not when there is so much left to be done, so much to heal and mend. _ Indeed, in his heart Merionè knew if there was one place in Middle Earth that needed protection it would not be the havens – nay, for Cirdan had a jewel that would keep them blessed. Greenwood had no such jewel however, only the steadfastness of the elves. Merionè sighed – though his heart yearned for the sea, it also yearned to help these elves, this young King, in the inevitable struggles to come.

Finally Merionè shook his head. "Nay, King Thranduil. I will not return so soon. You have more need for me here than Cirdan does in the havens."  He looked determinedly at Thranduil and then bowed his head respectfully.

"I pledge my service to you until the elves of Greenwood can live safely and merrily in the abodes of this wood, without any fear of invasion. I pledge to help you build a kingdom here worthy of your father.  You have my word, King Thranduil, I will not abandon you so soon. I would stay and serve you and the elves of this wood, for it is here where my heart tells me I can be the most use." Merionè paused for a moment and hesitatingly looked up at the surprised King. "If you would have me, that is."

Thranduil gazed in shock at the elf and at first did not respond. Suddenly, a wide grin stretched across his face and he clasped the other elf's shoulder, pulling him into an embrace. "I would be a fool to turn you down!" He then pulled away and held Merionè at arm's length. "Merionè, this is an honor. I accept your service. But I know how your heart must yearn for the sea."  His grin quickly vanished and a sad, doubtful gleam returned to his eyes. "The battle may be over for now, but I do not believe Sauron to be defeated. I cannot explain it, but my heart tells me the war against him is not yet over. You need not stay with me until it is, Merionè, for who knows when the final battle will be won. But I do know this wood will soon flourish with my people and a great kingdom will be built even despite this lingering threat – for now at least, that threat is too distant to suppress us. Stay as long as your heart bids you to-that is all I ask."

Merionè nodded. "Aye, my heart tells me the same. And so you have my word, King Thranduil. As long as my heart allows me, I will remain with you in Greenwood."

King Thranduil grinned and exclaimed joyfully to the woodelves around them, "Ulmo has sent us a gift! A great mariner of Lindon, of the service of the High-King Gil-galad and Lord Cirdan, and now a protector of Greenwood!"

Merionè smiled shyly and avoided the curious gazes of the elves around him. "Aye, I have been honored indeed to serve such great elf-lords. And it is an honor for me now to serve yet another, for you too will join the ranks of these great Kings – the Valar have deemed it so, I can tell. A great age with many great Kings await us."

Thranduil cocked his head and considered the young mariner in front of him, suddenly wondering whether Merionè truly was as young as he originally thought. "Aye, a great age is ahead of us indeed," he murmured. 

* * * *

Merionè awoke with a start, gasping for breath and struggling to regain control of his racing heart. Or did he wake? Perhaps this was the dream. He gazed fitfully around him at the scowling trees, bent over and paralyzed in shadow, dripping with poison and choking from the noxious fumes emanating from Dol Guldur.  _As long as my heart allows me…_Merionè mouthed these words and deliriously searched for Thranduil. _It is time then!  I must leave… I must leave now… My heart bids me to leave! _ He shuddered and choked from a sudden intense feeling of claustrophobia.  Everything seemed to be threateningly closing in on him – the trees, the rocks, the thick clouds, the sneering Orcs…

_Orcs__?___

Merionè gasped and jumped to his feet, immediately whipping out his dagger, ready for a full-fledged battle with the two hideous creatures. Creatures that had brought so much pain to Greenwood – who had made Thranduil both an orphan and a grieving father. The creatures who kept him from the sea for so long with their endless torment of this once enchanted wood! Aye, they would pay for their carnage, for the plight of the woodelves, for everything…They would pay and then Merionè could return to Lindon. To the havens where the gulls whistled their winsome melodies, where the sea churned and released her salty breath into the fresh, cool air, and the stars shone brightly with stories of days long past. Where he would one day build a ship and sail over the sea – not to Valinor, not to anywhere in particular – nay, it was the sea Merionè wanted and nothing more.  As soon as he took care of these Orcs, he would beg Thranduil permission to leave.  

But then something strange happened that caused Merionè to pause. The Orcs did nothing – they just sat there! One of them slowly put down an arrow which he had been sharpening incessantly and the other slowly unsheathed a beautiful ivory knife. They both stiffened and rose from their seats, clearly not eager to fight him. Merionè shook his head and shakily held on to his knife, unsure of whether he should attack first – ai, of course he should attack first! He would be a fool to wait for attack! Yet something stayed his hand, something held him back, though he could not say what… _Ai! Fight it! You must fight it! Break these chains! Fight! _

Merionè gritted his teeth and with all the determination he could summon, he held up his knife and lunged at one of the Orcs. 

"MERIONÈ!"

Suddenly, a powerful force grabbed Merionè and knocked him to the ground and his mind slipped into darkness again. 

_Purple wine splashed and stained the leafy forest ground as goblets joyfully clinked together in honor of the new Queen, and the elves' beloved King.  She was as beautiful as the radiant trees of __Greenwood__, and she and Thranduil were the personifications of young love. _

_Thranduil__ laughed and spun his wife to the elves' merry songs. Merionè smiled and quietly watched, remembering the battle that took place on this ground so many years ago. Where so many had died… where those he fought beside fell at the bloody swords of merciless Orcs…Orcs who now trampled upon this party… sneaking up on the joyous King and his wife… ready to attack, ready to kill Thranduil…_

Terrified, Merionè let out a powerful scream and lurched awake (or perhaps back into sleep?). He opened his eyes, ready to stab the Orc attackers, the demons who tormented him so, the servants of Sauron that haunted even the happiest of celebrations…

"It is time! It is time I leave and you as well!" he shouted passionately as he lunged forward, ready for attack.

But suddenly a strong arm wrapped around him, restraining him, and instead of an Orc, a terrified prince stood numbly in front of him, his shaky hand nervously holding up an ivory knife in defense. 

Merionè blinked and gaped stupidly, quickly scanning the area for the two Orcs he had previously seen. Then resting his eyes once again on the Prince, he breathed incredulously, "Cièdron!?" 

Cièdron gaped at Merionè as he carefully backed away. The lush enchanted wood melted away, purple wine turned into venomous sap, and celebratory songs morphed into the howls and groans of Mirkwood.  

Merionè blinked and frantically tried to fight off the arms holding him back. "Orcs! There were Orcs! Where are they? We must…" He trailed off when a shivering Cièdron offered no response but merely shook his head wide eyed and white with fear. 

"Nay, Merionè, there are no Orcs here…" Cièdron whispered sorrowfully. 

"But…but, I saw them…I saw them! They were threatening Thranduil – his wedding… your mother…No, no I mean the battle… the last battle, Oropher's funeral…Or no… Ai! They're always there! Always! But I tried to kill it – did you not see? I attacked it… I blacked out…"  Merionè paused and thought for a moment, then suddenly cried triumphantly, "Ai! It was a dream! The funeral, the wedding – I was not there… It was the oath holding back my hand! Ai, just as it had before, but I fought it…I fought it…" 

Another voice from behind Merionè interrupted him. 

"Nay, Merionè, it was I who held back your hand."

Merionè froze at Bratherond's soft voice and again gaped fearfully at Cièdron. Several long moments passed when only the hushed murmurings of the wind broke the stony silence. "Who are you?" he breathed. 

Cièdron's eyes widened and his lip trembled before he could bring himself to answer. Howls and moans filled the wood – perhaps these too belonged to the warriors of the War of the Last Alliance.  But even these legendary spirits could no longer offer any protection. "Merionè! You know who I am…" Cièdron murmured,

Merionè fell limp in Bratherond's grip. "Do I? Or is it now that my eyes deceive me? Tell me is it Greenwood I am in, but Mirkwood I see? There were Orcs here, I swear it… Ai I do not know what I see and I do not see what I know! " 

Cièdron dropped his knife and ran up to Merionè, roughly grabbing his shoulders. "Merionè! It is us you see and us you know! It is Mirkwood you see, but Greenwood you are in! If it is Thranduil's son before you, then your eyes do not deceive you!"

Merionè trembled and tightly shut his eyes. "Aye, it is Thranduil's son I see…" he whispered.

_Thranduil__ shook his head in frustration as his two youngest once again stormed into his meeting, squabbling over Valar knew what this time. A smile tugged on Merionè's lips, though he fought back the impulse to laugh, as did the others currently seated beside their King, as the two young elflings demanded their father's attention to resolve yet another battle between them._

_"You have a mother also, you know!" Thranduil bellowed angrily above his sons' bickering. _

_"But __Ada__, I wish not to bother her now as she is defenestrating," Cièdron replied matter-of-factly._

_A baffled silence fell over the King and his companions, which included the venerable Lord Elrond who now fought valiantly to control his smirk and a rather grumpy Bratherond who sank into his chair, clearly annoyed with this interruption. Thranduil furrowed his eyebrows and stared incredulously at his sons. _

_"Your mother is what?" he asked slowly, enunciating each word. _

_"Defenestrating," Cièdron repeated. "She told us that whenever we fight, she defenestrates and we should never interrupt her while she defenestrates. She said to see you instead."_

_As usual, Legolas remained silent as Cièdron spoke, though his features revealed that at least on this one topic, he was in perfect agreement with his brother. _

_Lord Elrond raised his eyebrows and humorously considered the two young elves. "It seems Lady Galeraen has found an interesting way to pass her time, King Thranduil."_

_Thranduil__ frowned and sighed angrily as he sank into his chair. "Aye, I shall have to speak to her later about this new pastime. Last time it was prevaricating, but Legolas somehow knew the meaning of that word, so it didn't quite work…" he muttered.  Elrond's smirk grew and he released a small chuckle. When Thranduil was seated he looked again at his sons and let out another exasperated sigh.  But it was Merionè who finally spoke up._

_"My young princes, as you can see, we are having a very important meeting right now…"_

_Cièdron__ straightened and then looked shamefully towards the ground. "Aye I am sorry… it is just that Legolas…"_

_Merion__ shook his head and held up his hand. "Now, now, there is no need to apologize. But perhaps you will be able to help us…"_

_Both Legolas' and Cièdron's eyes lit up and the two straightened with anticipation. _

_Merion__ smiled seeing that he had the elflings' full attention. "It is a riddle you see… Lord Elrond has been trying to figure it out, for it is of utmost importance to the elves of Imladris…"_

_Cièdron__ nearly jumped with excitement at this. "I am very good at riddles! What is it? I could figure it out!"_

_Merion__ raised his eyebrows and eyed the two princes closely. "I will tell it to you… But you must promise not to return unless you have figured it out, for we will need the utmost concentration on our parts…"_

_This time Legolas decided to speak up. "We will not! What is it?"_

_Merion__ leaned back and paused, allowing the suspense to build in the young elves' hearts. "What runs without legs and whistles without a mouth?" he finally asked mysteriously. _

_The two brothers looked at each other, each mouthing the riddle questioningly. _

_Thranduil__ cleared his throat and impatiently spoke up. "Yes, yes, that is the riddle. Now figuring out this riddle is even more important than your mother's defenestration, so I suggest you go to her for help – you can tell her I sent you. Now go and we too shall try to figure out this puzzle…"_

_Cièdron__ and Legolas nodded, and distractedly left the room, both lost in thought as they searched their minds for an answer. As soon as the door shut behind them, Thranduil loosed a sigh and Elrond sat back, an amused look still coloring his features._

_"Well done, Master Merionè. That should keep them for a while…"_

_Thranduil__ frowned doubtfully and gazed at the door. "You do not know my sons, Lord Elrond…" _

_Bratherond__ grunted. "Aye, I give them one minute before they begin to fight over the answer to this riddle!"_

_As if on cue, the door flew open with Legolas leaping in triumphantly with Cièdron at his heels. "The wind! It is the wind!" he yelled.  Merionè laughed as Thranduil groaned. But then he gasped as a shadow suddenly engulfed the two young sons…_

"NO!!!"

Cièdron grabbed Merionè again and shook him lightly. "Merionè! Merionè, peace!" 

Merionè collapsed to his knees and let out a small cry, before falling limp again in Bratherond's embrace, giving into the darkness of yet more delusions and memories. The wind whistled her eerie laments and ran her long fingers through Merionè's hair as the elf trembled and lurched in his troubled sleep.  Bratherond cradled his head in his lap and ran his own fingers through the elf's hair. With a sigh, he took Merionè's knife and carefully placed in into his belt.

"You should sleep, Cièdron," he murmured wearily, never removing his eyes from Merionè. 

Without a word Cièdron slid down against a tree, but did not shut his eyes. The two sat in silence as yet another day slowly began to creep through the thick canopy.  Gradually, Merionè grew more still in Bratherond's care as if subconsciously his rebellious mind decided to once again trust the touch of his comrade.  When the storm finally subsided within the quivering elf, Bratherond carefully reached over to Merionè's pack and began to rummage through its contents. Cièdron lackadaisically watched as Bratherond pulled out wrapped lembas biscuits, a whetting stone, cloth and arrow heads. Bratherond frowned disappointedly at these findings and was about to throw the pack aside, when a small object caught his eye. Catching the elf's sudden interest in the pack, Cièdron leaned forward to get a better look at whatever it was Bratherond found. 

Bratherond held it up and a sad smile bent his lips. Cièdron furrowed his eyebrows curiously. A small, crystal vial hung from Bratherond's hand, filled with clear water that lapped gently against its smooth inner surface. Bratherond looked up and caught Cièdron's gaze.

"Sea water," he stated simply, quickly closing his fist protectively around the vial. "He must have been carrying this for thousands of years…"

Bratherond once again furrowed his brows in thought and searched the grounds around him. Then a sudden idea lit up his face and after carefully laying the vial on Merionè's chest he reached around his own neck and pulled out a long string holding a tiny charm that lay hidden beneath his tunic.  After fingering the charm for a moment, he pulled the necklace over his head and proceeded to untie the string and slip off the charm, which he promptly placed in his own pack. 

"If he cannot go to the sea, then I shall give the sea to him," he whispered as he slipped the vial onto the string and retied it.  He then carefully pulled the necklace over Merionè's head and pulled through the elf's hair so that the vial hung loosely around his neck. 

Cièdron raised his eyebrows and cocked his head sadly at this gesture. "Nay, Bratherond. He will see the ocean again. He will return to it," he quietly, but firmly murmured. 

Bratherond did not respond and once again they fell into silence. For several long moments they sat when finally with a sigh, Cièdron rose and stroked the necks of one of the horses. "We should continue now," he said resignedly. "We still have a long way to go, and my mind speaks of much evil approaching."

Bratherond dropped his gaze and remained quiet for several long moments. "You have not noticed then," he finally whispered. 

"Noticed what?" Cièdron asked eyeing Bratherond carefully as he tried to read the elf's enigmatically stoic features. 

When Bratherond looked up, his normally steely eyes fully revealed their watery anguish, their absolute hopelessness. Cièdron nearly gasped at this sudden loss of resolution in the once resilient warrior. "Bratherond…"

"Look around you Cièdron!" Bratherond yelled suddenly, his voice high and panicked. "Look! Do you not see it?! Do you not see!?" 

Cièdron staggered, but obediently looked at their bleak surroundings. "See what?" He asked. When no answer came, he turned violently towards Bratherond. "See what!?!" he demanded.

Bratherond straightened and pulled out his bow, quickly taking aim and shooting at a gnarled tree just behind Cièdron. Cièdron angrily turned towards the target and grasped the knife at his side, but just as he was about to press for an explanation, he froze. Fearfully, Cièdron walked towards the tree until he stood but a foot away from its bark.

"You have shot this tree before…" he breathed as he stared at the punctured bark. 

"Aye, I shot it this morning. And last night. And yesterday morning," Bratherond sighed. 

"But it is not possible… It is not possible! We have gone so many leagues since then… we have been traveling nonstop!" Cièdron now yelled as he yanked out the arrow. 

He whipped furiously around and once again faced Bratherond who now stared indolently at Merionè. 

"Bratherond? It…it is not possible… we are being deceived – I can feel it. We are hallucinating just as Merionè was! This cannot be…" Cièdron trailed off upon realizing his words fell on deaf ears. 

The morning sun now fully rose above the decrepit wood and a faint mist draped over the three elves. Cièdron tightly gripped the arrow and gazed at the forlorn figures of Bratherond and Merionè, two formidable warriors brought down by grief and deceit, by their own love for their kingdom. Bratherond continued to gently cradle Merionè whose hand now rested lightly over the vial hanging loosely around his thin neck. In the mist, their bodies emanated a faint glow as a light drizzle began to fall around them. 

The sun's faint rays continued to break through the mist and bounce off the light raindrops. With a sigh Cièdron's hand dropped to his side, never releasing the arrow and he looked up towards the sky.  The elf nearly jumped in surprise when he caught sight of the clouds above him – the clouds that had remain hidden for so many days by the thick oppressive canopy. But here a small break in the canopy opened above them like a window, reminding them of the world outside of Mirkwood. Cièdron gazed in wonder through this window, ignoring the pelting rain against his face, counting the clouds as they quickly sailed by, allowing even the sun to peek into the darkened wood from time to time. 

With a small laugh, Cièdron again looked towards Bratherond. "Bratherond, look up! It is a miracle indeed! It must be a sign!" 

Bratherond raised an eyebrow and warily followed Cièdron's gaze up.  For a moment, the elf's face lit up in wonder and a light trickled back into his shadowed eyes. Quickly Bratherond gazed back down at Merionè and gently shook him. 

"Merionè! Merionè, the sky! You would surely love this, mellonin," he whispered joyfully. 

Though Merionè did not respond, Bratherond looked up again, holding up a long hand to shield his face from the rain.  And for the first time ever, Cièdron heard the surly elf laugh. 

"Imagine that, Cièdron! It seems the shadow of Sauron has missed a spot! Alas elves cannot sprout wings and fly!"

Cièdron raised both his eyebrows and let out a stifled giggle which quickly grew into an uncontrollable laugh.  If only Legolas could hear this! For once, Bratherond spoke not as a tightly wound-up soldier of men, but as a _woodelf__. _

"Alas we were not better woodelves for then we could climb through that window and simply walk on top of these trees all the way back home!" Cièdron laughed. 

Bratherond raised an eyebrow at this, but could not hold back his laugh which sputtered from him in a ridiculous snort. "Then we are fools, for we could have made this trek and been back already, if we had just gone over the trees! Ai! Some woodelves we are indeed! A shame really, we cannot live up to our reputations…"

Cièdron laughed and shook his head, "Ai, a shame indeed…"

Suddenly, a massive black shadow flew over the trees, blocking out Cièdron's window and immediately turning day into night and the flittering warmth gave way to ice. The laughter disappeared from Cièdron's and Bratherond's lips, replaced by the anxious whinnies of their horses and the terrible, screeching yells and wails from the creatures that flew above them. Cièdron's wide eyes met Bratherond's and neither needed to speak a word to communicate their fears. After a failed attempt to wake Merionè, Bratherond quickly lifted the elf and place him on his own horse in front of him.  With a quick glimpse at Cièdron, who had already mounted his own steed, the elf gave a swift kick and the horse broke off into a sprint, quickly followed by Cièdron and Merionè's horse.   

"Bratherond, what is that?!" Cièdron yelled frantically against the rain. 

With one arm, Bratherond held tightly to Merionè as he swung his horse in an abrupt turn to the left. "Just stay behind me, Cièdron!" he returned.

Cièdron's horse skidded through wet leaves and mud into the turn, never falling far behind Bratherond.  Another earsplitting wail shook the wood and Cièdron had to fight every impulse within him not to let go of his horse to cover his ears.  Ahead of him Bratherond leaned in further and ordered his horse to speed up. Cièdron did the same though the chills racing through his spine nearly paralyzed his movements.  Once again, Bratherond made a sharp turn, this time to the right.  Cièdron bit his lip and just as he pulled on his horse's mane to command her to go right, a loud, agonized neigh and a pained cry echoed ahead of him.  Stiffening with fear, Cièdron tugged on the mane, desperately trying to get his horse to stop, but it was too late and the horse had been going to fast.  As sudden as an explosion, the landscape beneath the horse changed from matted leaves to sharp gray rocks and the trees gave way to scattered boulders.  Just ahead of them, Bratherond's horse excitedly whinnied and neighed as she jumped to her back legs. Not from her, Bratherond was slowly pushing himself up and Merionè lay unconscious beside him.  Cièdron's heart jumped when he realized he was but a second away from trampling both of them and he frantically pulled back on his horse causing her to skid and lose her balance. Not wanting to fall with the horse, Cièdron quickly leapt off the opposite side to which the horse fell, landing hard on the rocky ground, just beside Bratherond and Merionè.

"Bratherond! Bratherond, are you ok!!" Cièdron yelled against the whipping winds. A nasty gash zigzagged across Bratherond's cheek and he rubbed his arm, but he nodded his head quickly before moving to Merionè's side.   

"He is waking!" Bratherond yelled as Merionè twitched uncomfortably. As Bratherond bent over Merionè, examining the elf for injuries, another screech pierced the air, the loudest yet, and Cièdron whipped his head around in time to see the same shadow that had passed over them before fly towards a great tower in the midst of this rocky, stormy gray clearing.  The horses continued to jump and neigh frantically in the gusty winds and rain. 

"Dol Guldur," Cièdron breathed. "Bratherond! Bratherond, we must get out of here! Hurry! We must leave now!" Cièdron leapt to his feet and ran towards his horse, desperately shouting commands for her to calm down to no avail.  Panic gripped his heart and he turned again to Bratherond. "Bratherond, do not wake him! Just take him and leave! We must leave!" 

Terrified, Bratherond looked up and quickly scanned their surroundings. Then turning back to Merionè, he frantically struggled to lift the elf, but with an agonized cry, he collapsed back to his knees, gripping his forearm in pain. 

Without even taking the time to inquire about Bratherond's injury, Cièdron raced to his side and lifted the slowly wakening figure of Merionè. "Can you mount your horse, Bratherond?" Cièdron gasped as he vainly tried again to calm down his own horse enough so that he could place Merionè on it. 

"Of course I could!" Bratherond snapped, obviously slightly embarrassed that he needed Cièdron's help at all.  But before he even had a chance to prove himself, an arrow shot past him, just grazing his ear. 

"Into the wood! Draw your weapon and get into the wood!" he yelled. 

But Cièdron had already done just that and he skidded to a crouch behind a tree just before Bratherond appeared behind a tree just beside him. 

"Orcs!" Cièdron hissed, not having seen the arrow, but the creatures themselves. He quickly leaned Merionè against the tree and drew out his bow. 

"Aye, I noticed," Bratherond gritted sarcastically, as he pulled out his own bow. 

The two then let out a slew of arrows, unaware of the soft groans of their companion as he gradually came to.  Merionè's eyes fluttered open, though whether he saw hallucinations or reality, Orcs or the King's son, not even he knew for sure. Cièdron glimpsed at the elf and noticing he was awake, he quickly lowered his bow and grabbed his shoulders. 

"Merionè! Merionè, it is me, it is Cièdron!" he hissed. Merionè furrowed his brows, but did not reply. Undeterred, Ciedorn continued, "Listen to me, Merionè, we are under attack – you must fight… There are Orcs here now – you must defend yourself against them…" 

Looking up again, Cièdron quickly lifted his bow and loosed another series of arrows. Beside him Bratherond grunted. "I am all out." As he reached to his side to grab a sword, he glanced at Merionè. 

"Cièdron, he is awake!" 

Having run out of arrows himself, Cièdron dropped his bow and unsheathed his dagger. "Aye, Bratherond, you must give him a weapon."

Bratherond stiffened, but after a fleeting glimpse of the Orcs coming ever closer to them, he quickly realized what Cièdron already knew – they had little hope as it was protecting just themselves. If they had to protect Merionè as well, they had no hope at all. With a brusque nod he pulled out Merionè's long knife and crouched beside the elf. 

"Merionè, there are Orcs – there are many Orcs. We cannot defend you my friend, you must fight for yourself now."

Merionè narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "Nay, do not give this to me. I do not know you… I do not know myself…."

Bratherond bit his lip and was just about to take back the knife when a sword swung into the tree above him. Merionè's face lit up and he immediately straightened, grabbing the dagger from Bratherond.  Having no time to take back the knife from Merionè, Bratherond jumped to his feet and after a short battle quickly felled the Orc whose sword had just missed his head a moment earlier.  He then jumped out of the wood and into the pool of Orcs at the foot of Dol Guldur, where Cièdron already valiantly fought off the tide of deadly beasts. Even with one injured arm, Bratherond easily relieved Cièdron of some of the battle, cutting through Orcs as if they were weeds. But another wail sounded above him causing him to release his own tormented yell as the undulating air around him both simmered and froze and the Orcs continued their onslaught.  Cièdron's relief did not last long as Bratherond was swiftly pulled away into his own battle.  

"Cièdron!" he tried to yell above the winds, wails, and Orcish shouts and commands. "Ai, Cièdron! This is more than anyone imagined!" He did not know whether Cièdron heard him, but regardless, he continued. "Ai! So many! We must inform Thranduil!" He paused to swing a sword through the body of one Orc and then quickly jump out of the way of another sword. "We must leave here and inform Mithrandir and Thranduil immediately!" Again he had to pause in order to pierce two Orcs beside him and a third behind him.  "Cièdron, these are _armies_, not mere rogues! Sauron is gathering armies! He is preparing to strike Mirkwood!"

Bratherond gasped as a sudden movement caused a searing pain to rip through his injured arm, but he continued nonetheless to slaughter the Orcs around him. "Cièdron, if I do not make it, you must find a way out of here! You must tell your father! This can only mean one thing! Ai, if Sauron is gathering such a force it can only mean one thing!"

A sword cut into Bratherond's side and he bent over in pain, but he quickly straightened and killed the Orc that struck him. "Ai, it means, but one thing…" he gritted. "He is rising again… He is close…"

A slight lull in the battle as he downed another Orc allowed Bratherond to look up in search of Cièdron, but the young elf prince was no where in sight. He straightened and looked about him frantically. "Cièdron?" With a grunt, he stabbed another Orc and then he exclaimed in panic, "Cièdron!" 

Bratherond's heart raced when no response came and the rising storm continued to pull him back. Ai! He could have kicked himself for so quickly losing sight of the King's son!   

But he could have killed himself for losing sight of Merionè.  

**TBC**

**Told you it would come shortly ;) **


	22. On His Knees

 Chapter 22

**On His Knees **

The deserted lands stretched before him like a beige platter dotted with assorted servings of stumpy gray-green trees, gnarled bushes, and scattered stones. The sun's pale rays caused the blighted elves' shadows to reach out before them like phantoms straining to grasp the horizon as the light, dry wind mockingly hummed her empty tunes.  They rode in darkness despite the glaring sun and their leader remained chained despite his release.

Reanur grasped Legolas' cloak and gently felt the delicate, surprisingly durable elvish weaving between his thumb and fingers, distractedly examining the nauseating reminder of the youngest prince's suffering by his hands, at least indirectly. He imagined carrying this cloak through the halls of Thranduil and to the great King himself.

_"My King, I have come from the lost lands of the Avari where I have given my soul and taken your son. But I bring you this token to remind you of him.  It is but a cloak, but as you can see, a part of him is permanently stained within its threads…."_

Reanur shuddered and grimaced as a splintering headache cracked through his forehead like the unyielding jaws of a tiger.  _"But you see King Thranduil? You have at least some of your warriors and scouts back!  Their doomed souls have been relinquished by their battered bodies, but they are back and they are all yours!" _

The headache grew and soon Reanur could no longer focus on the rapidly approaching land ahead of them. With a yell that woke the few crows and sparrows that dwelled in their bramble hideaways, but had no effect on his morose companions, Reanur tumbled from his horse and landed roughly on the ground.

"By all the Balrogs of Morgoth! Have they no mercy on me!"

Reanur clenched his teeth and forced himself to his knees as the dust swirled around him, a billowing storm without a rumble. As his headache subsided, he slowly dropped his hands from his forehead, having finally fought away the crushing pain.

"I cannot do this. I cannot betray Thranduil this way!" Reanur murmured breathlessly. He turned and faced the other warriors. "I cannot do this!"  His voice traveled on the backs of the galloping winds, but did not reach the deaf ears of his warriors. He trembled despite the afternoon heat and turned away, facing the glossy Rhûn sea that lay out like a petite jewel in the mammoth gulf of colorless sand.

"But I already have betrayed him…. There is no more I can do now… I know not what I do. I know not who I am…"

For several moments, Reanur remained perfectly still, unsure of what path to follow. If he went home to Thranduil, surely he would only do more to cause the King pain! He glanced at the bloodied cloak in his hand.  No, not just pain – he would bring about the King's downfall.  Even if he did not lose his mind completely to the treacherous oath that bound him, then the stained cloak alone would surely ignite Thranduil's impassioned temper into a fire that would burn down all of Mirkwood in its desire for vengeance.

_Then perhaps I should return and fight Rómen . Fight him and free Legolas! _Reanur's hand flew up to his forehead as another headache seeped into his brain, its poisonous tendrils choking his drowning mind with hallucinations and whisperings of a stronger betrayal than that he already made. He screamed again and violently shook his head, straining to shake away the terrible nightmares that took away his free will. How on Middle Earth could he possibly free Legolas at this point when he did not even trust his own hands!

In frustration, Reanur released another choked cry and threw the cloak violently to the ground. 

"Elbereth! What have I done!?"

He then fell silent and gazed up in time to see a rider far in the distance, heading towards the Rhûn sea.  The rider's yellow cloak had fallen off her head revealing waves of hair as white as the clouds above them. In front of her sat a small child with the same extraordinary tresses flying wildly about her small, pale head.

Reanur's eyes remained glued to the riders until they disappeared into the scenery, their surreal glows blending with the horizon.

"Ereb," Reanur whispered, remembering the elf charged with keeping watch over Legolas.

For several long moments he toyed with an idea that suddenly appeared in his mind like an epiphany, brought on by these white haired riders. Could he do it? Did he have the strength?  The courage? _Could he be so coldblooded? _

He looked behind him at the dour faced warriors and considered his other options. But there were no other options. _They have shown no mercy to us and so they deserve no mercy from me. _ 

"I have already condemned my soul. What more have I to lose?" Reanur rose from his knees and grabbed Legolas' cloak.  He then tossed it at one of the warriors and leapt onto his horse.

"Return home if you so desire! Let Thranduil know of the evil that has occurred in these lands, but tell him his son will soon be returned! Legolas _will _come home!"

Reanur watched as one of the warriors caught the cloak, a faint sense of confusion clouding his features. "At a price even Thranduil would not be willing to pay…" he added silently to himself.

But Thranduil would never know what Reanur now planned to do – he could not, for he would never approve of such cruelty and the guilt would burden both him and his son.  _He will not know. Legolas will not know and nor will Thranduil.   _

"I will make sure of that." Though he thought he would faint from the splitting headaches that stabbed his rebellious mind, and though sinister voices warned and threatened him and taunted him with all-too-real hallucinations, Reanur turned his horse around and sprinted towards the Rhûn sea, following where the strange, white haired elves previously rode. The rest of the warriors watched him curiously and continued on their dreary return to Mirkwood, guided by a phantom chain pulling them ever closer to their own dooms.

"King Thranduil?"

The light voice broke through the cacophony of swords and weapons being sharpened and readied for battle, excited chatter of warriors and the bustling orders of Filinor and Käriler.  Thranduil furrowed his brows and turned on his heel, prepared to dismiss the tentative request, but bit his tongue when he laid his eyes on the young elf that asked for his attention.

"Aradea," he sighed. "Alas your fair eyes must take in these dark days."  Thranduil frowned and placed a strong hand on the elf's smooth cheek. Her bright eyes did not flinch at the words of the king and she visibly tensed as his hand fell lightly from her cheek to her shoulder.

"King Thranduil, your sons…" her voice wavered ever so slightly as she uttered these words and Thranduil squeezed her shoulder in response.

"They will return, Aradea.  You have my word. Cièdron will return to you," Thranduil murmured.  _Alas even young love is sundered by our plight… _The King then forced a small smile, desperate to bring some levity to what he hoped to be his future daughter-in-law's lonely heart. "The memory of your face will bring him back…and the celebration we will have when he does return…"

Aradea's eyes widened ever so slightly at Thranduil's words. They then rapidly filled with unshed tears and her lip quivered nervously. She tore her gaze away from the King's and gently shook her head. Thranduil stiffened at this and without a word lifted her chin so that her eyes returned to his. _Ai Elbereth! Do not tell me he broke this jewel's heart! I shall have much to say to him if he did… _

But it was not a broken heart that caused Aradea such grief. It was good-bye.

"Nay, King Thranduil," she whispered, her voice barely containing the grief that choked her soul. "The memory of my face will not bring him _here_."

Thranduil dropped his hand and he tensed, though he still remained silent, awaiting Aradea to continue.

Again, the elf shook her flaxen head and when she stopped, tears stained her powdery skin. "He told me to leave here, King Thranduil. He told me to go West."

Thranduil's eyes widened and for a moment, he could not speak as his heart dropped to his stomach. The King's voice, normally strong and regal, foundered weakly like a broken string when he finally spoke. "He what?" he breathed, his heart already ripping in pain.

"I am going West, King Thranduil, just as your son has bid me to do. My heart cannot breathe in this world anymore, my King."

"This is good-bye then.." Thranduil said flatly. His mind fluttered with images that would never be – images of celebrations… He could practically hear the woodelves' merry songs of love, the taste of the Lakemen's best wine, pouring forth like waterfalls from overflowing barrels, the smell of lilacs and lavender… and his son, celebrating his devotion to his beloved amongst the great trees of Greenwood  - just as he had celebrated his love for his own wife many years ago. But the coldness of reality crashed against him as suddenly as a fierce, merciless storm. Such joy simply did not exist in Mirkwood anymore.  This time it was he who shook his head and he gazed imploringly at Aradea.

"He did not mean it, I am sure…"

"King Thranduil, I do not go West just because Cièdron told me to!" Aradea interrupted sternly, her face hardening with stubborn determination. She then softened and looked down. "It is as I said. I cannot breathe in this wood anymore..."

"Could you not wait Aradea? Could you not wait until he returned…"

"Nay, because I could not bear it if he did not return. I could not bear the news you may bring to me. I would rather wait for eternity with the hope that the new day will bring him to me than live the rest of my life knowing he will never come." She paused and gazed again at Thranduil. "I called you to bid you farewell and to give you my blessings. May the Valar bring both of your sons and you home in peace."

"My child, this is not farewell.  We will meet again.  We all will. Your wait will not be in vain."

Aradea smiled weakly and boldly placed her hand on the King's cheek. She curiously examined his worn face – the tired eyes and small lines drawn by the hands of Wisdom and Pain, making him all the more beautiful as elves do become with the accumulation of years. "Aye," she whispered, answering her own unasked question. "Your hope is strong. You still have faith in this wood. That is good.  I have seen this same strength in Legolas – yes there is hope left for this world, there is- I can see it."  Thranduil narrowed his eyes, noting how Aradea pointedly mentioned Legolas, but not Cièdron.  He almost pressed her on this when sudden realization stopped his heart and his head suddenly swam in grief making it nearly impossible to even stand, let alone speak.  Indeed, no pain could match the pain of farewell! Alas that he had to know the pain of a thousand farewells! How much he had sacrificed!  How much he had lost for his dream!

Aradea noticed the King's eyes glisten and she dropped her hand, lightly taking his hand in hers instead. "You will have your celebrations. They will simply be in another world – a better one, my King."

Unable to face Aradea anymore, Thranduil pulled his hand away and turned brusquely. "No world is better than this one Aradea and I swear on my life, I will not leave until I see this belief vindicated. But you have my blessings, for you are like a daughter to me. Farewell – I do not know when we will meet again." With a curt nod he left Aradea alone to her farewells, lost hopes and abandoned dreams.

With a long sigh Thranduil shut his eyes and thought of the future that would never be and the past that wrote his and his sons' destinies. Destinies that they were slavishly bound to, though they led to a future none of them wanted and created pasts they would always wish to change.  "Forgive me, forgive me my sons, my daughter, my wife for I have failed you all. I was deceived. I looked at this wood and saw greatness when all that was there was a curse. And now I am bound to this curse, and you have suffered for my blind devotion. Forgive me."

Thranduil unsheathed his sword and then examined his own face in its slender surface.  Though he frowned slightly at how worn, how old, he looked, his mind did not allow such vain contemplations for long as images of his wife and family floated into that shimmering pool - those days of long ago that still seized his mind.  Their faces were distant, like departing ships, and when he tried to picture them, he found that the years had slowly, cruelly begun to erase certain lines, certain angles from Thranduil's memory so that the faces remained incomplete and fading.  Thranduil struggled to fill in these shadows and lines, to picture the faces from every possible viewpoint, but the long years would not grant even his sharp, elvish memory such mercy.  The memories Thranduil lived for more and more became lost in the past and the future he hoped for grew more distant so that Thranduil was left in a limbo with nothing to hold onto behind him or ahead of him besides the present which offered no promises or respite – just his sword with which he vowed to fight with until his dying breath.

The present did not give anyone firm ground on which to stand.  Leagues away, the memories of one, unlike those of Thranduil, were now becoming all too clear – so clear, he lost himself in them, unable to distinguish between the past and the present, dreams and reality.  In those memories he found moments of respite from the present nightmares that tormented him, but the price he paid for that respite was arguably more than even Thranduil in all his anguish would be willing to pay.  For the price was the very ground on which Merionè stood. As the past swallowed Merionè, as his memories rivaled the present, he fell deeper into an abyss from which he could not escape.  As Thranduil searched his memory for the shadow that outlined his deceased sons' eyes when they stood under their favorite tree, Merionè, in his torment and his delusions, saw all too clearly each and every shadow that haunted his past.

Merionè jumped to his feet when Bratherond nearly fell at the barrage of arrows that flew through the gnarled trees.  Orcs swiftly lured Bratherond and Cièdron into their own battles and Merionè quickly followed suit, wishing not be left out of this siren's deadly call to war. But alas, no one was calling Merionè to war except his own treacherous mind. As he dove into the frothing sea of Orcs, they sneered and laughed at him, but they did not fight him. They did not lure him as they lured the others. They had no need to.

The winds furiously whipped his pale hair and the furious storm darkened all of Dol Guldur in a whirlwind of cries, heckles and elves.

Elves?

Merionè staggered. Nay, they were Orcs!_ This cannot be… this cannot be…_ His hand shakily gripped his knife as he took in the merry woodelves surrounding him. Heckles turned into their musical laughter, shouts into songs, rocks and boulders into the great beeches and birches of Greenwood that protected the King and his wife from the sun's harsh glares, that the princes merrily flitted through, and under which the great spirit of Oropher still dwelled.  As Merionè took in these idyllic dreams of what could have been, tears filled his eyes. _Do my eyes deceive me? Am I now in a dream? _A haunting, peaceful lament glided through the air with delicate fingers reaching through the soft rustle of leaves and seducing the willowy birch trees. Merionè could see his own breath blow out in front of him, could feel the goosebumps poke through his skin, could smell the clean dewey air so perfectly he knew it could not be a dream.   

Suddenly, a figure appeared before Merionè that immediately caused him to fall to his knees in shock and deference. Dream or not, Merionè could not control this automatic genuflection. Though no words could ever find their way out of his constricted throat, his glowing, moist eyes revealed all of the devotion, loyalty and love within him that were awakened by the one who now approached. 

"Your time here is over, Merionè. You have fulfilled your oath to Thranduil. You have kept your honor, given your service, and now Greenwood has reclaimed her glory. And now it is your turn to find your own." The velvety voice sung to Merionè, a regal lark in this enchanted land.

"I may go now?" Merionè breathed, his voice weak with emotion. After all these years...these long years, so far from where his heart dwelled, could it be he could finally return? "To Lindon, I may go to Lindon now?" He gazed again unbelievingly at the brightened trees that emanated around him with the sheer brilliance of those of Valinor. A sudden image of the dark land he, Bratherond and Cièdron had stumbled into momentarily interrupted his thoughts. "But there were Orcs…"

"Not anymore, Merionè," the great elf interrupted. "Your oath has been honored. You owe no more to Thranduil."

For several long moments, Merionè stared quietly at the elf. "I owe no more to Thranduil…" he finally repeated slowly and the dark image – the evil memory of what once was – disappeared.

"Your time in this world is over."

Merionè nearly lost his breath from the shock and joy that overtook him. Tears stained his fair face as he disbelievingly shook his head. "Aye, Lord Gil-galad, you are right… You are right… It is over." The towering trees surrounding Merionè shimmered in the vivid yellow sunlight and the sky above rivaled the sun's citrus glow with its radiant opalescence. Everything around him seemed to glow as if they had swallowed bright pearls emitting a pale light through their thin, silkscreen skins.

Gil-galad smiled and placed his hand under Merionè's chin. "The past is over, mellonin – it is time you left it behind you. You have done what you could for Thranduil and his people."

As Merionè took in these words, he glimpsed one of Thranduil's sons not far behind Gil-galad. He could not control his smile as Cièdron angrily ran towards them, impatiently pushing through the other woodelves. With a small chuckle he again addressed Gil-galad. "I certainly have done all I could, for even my long years at battle could not compete with the temper of that one– nor can I control the brother who seems to find it so amusing to ignite that temper!" Gil-galad chuckled at this, but made no other response.

With an angry shout, Cièdron violently shoved aside the onslaught of Orcs, their murky bodies complementing the opaque, noxious land. "You will take your hands off him! You will release him now!" he cried as he strove to make his way to Merionè. The iron clouds above gathered angrily and the storms continued to screech as to Cièdron's distress, Merionè fell to his knees at the foot of a sneering, sinister Orc whose black sword trembled threateningly against the elf's chin. 

But as Cièdron finally came within a few meters of the elf, he stopped suddenly and staggered. Merionè was _laughing. _He was laughing merrily as if he had just shared some lighthearted joke with the Orc! Tears rolled down his face and Cièdron could have sworn they were tears of joy.  Trembling, he gaped at the two of them, unable to move for of all of Merionè's hallucinations and strange acts, none struck fear into the young prince's heart as much as the sight of the formidable warrior on his knees in a flurry of joyous tears in the midst of the nefarious Dol Guldur.

Merionè gazed amusedly at the bewildered prince. "I would think even a prince of Greenwood the Great would be wise enough to show some deference to his lordships…"

Cièdron's eyes widened and flashed angrily. "I will not bow to him and nor shall you," he breathed. As he approached, he easily twirled his daggers, one in each hand, to the condescending amusement of the Orc.  But the Orc had little time to laugh as a moment later it found itself in the midst of a whirlwind battle with the angered elf prince.

Merionè flew to his feet and unsheathed his own dagger. "Cièdron! What are you doing!?"

"Releasing you!" Cièdron grunted in return as he lodged his knife into the Orc's shoulder and fended off a blow with his other one.

Merionè lunged to the Orc's defense, but Cièdron swiftly knocked the elf to the ground with a powerful shove.  In a flurry of motions, he then kicked the Orc and stabbed it again in the side. The Orc flailed, but still retained enough strength to swing its black sword at Cièdron's neck.  Nearly simultaneously, Cièdron ducked out of the way and spun around to strike the Orc in the back.  This final stab was enough to cause the Orc to lose whatever strength remained and it fell to its knees, gasping and heaving for breath.  To be sure, Cièdron took one final stab at the back of its neck, finishing it off once and for all to the stunned horror of Merionè.

Grimly satisfied with his victory, Cièdron triumphantly pushed the body of the Orc off his dagger.  As he caught his breath and ran a bloodied hand over his forehead, a shiver ran down his spine. The storm's angry gusts ebbed slightly, but this was no comfort to Cièdron as the sudden silence seemed more like the angry breaths of a waking dragon than the dying breaths of a slaughtered enemy. He concentrated on his own breathing and struggled to focus his senses. But for all his efforts, he could not deny the terrible feeling that washed over his body of two incensed eyes glaring into his very soul.  With a gulp, he momentarily closed his eyes and steadied his pounding heart. He then slowly raised his head and turned to meet the fearsome gaze of Merionè.

"What have you done?" Merionè hissed as he straightened and raised his own dagger.

Cièdron frowned and automatically backed away slightly from the other elf. "Merionè, you are not yourself."

Merionè's hand tightened around his dagger and he began to pace slowly around Cièdron like a lion circling his prey. "Traitor…"

Cièdron stiffened and gripped his own knives. "Traitor?" he whispered. "It was not I who was kneeling, Merionè!"

"Do you know who you just murdered? Do you know whose blood you spilt?"

Cièdron turned his body and followed Merionè's careful movements. "It was an Orc Merionè! An Orc! Your eyes deceive you!"

"My eyes do NOT deceive me! For the first time I do believe I am seeing clearly! All the time I have devoted to your family, and for what? For what!? For an arrogant, greedy King and his haughty brats!"

Cièdron's eyes flashed, but he stifled the growing fire within him. "You do not mean that," he answered, his voice dangerously low. 

Merionè halted his pacing and faced Cièdron. "I could have been great! I was a mariner of Cirdan, a servant of the high King Gil-galad. I gave it all up and for what? FOR WHAT?!" He glanced up at the blackening sky and let out a small eerie laugh. "For what?" His voice cracked momentarily in a beseeching sob.

Cièdron shook his head sorrowfully. "Merionè, but you are great…"

Merionè looked up and his stony eyes rested once again on the prince. He then tossed aside his dagger and grabbed instead the deceased Orc's black sword, the very one Cièdron had seen pressed against Merionè's throat – and that Merionè had seen as Gil-galad's gentle hand. "Nay, but I will be," he whispered as he raised and pointed the sword at Cièdron.  Though Merionè could not explain it, the other woodelves disappeared around him and he stood alone with King Thranduil's second youngest. The blue skies swirled like spilt paint into gray storm clouds and the body of Gil-galad vanished into dust.  His purpose and thirst for vengeance slipped away, yet he continued to raise the dark sword against the young prince. He no longer needed a purpose.  His mind could no longer be capable of any such intentions.

 Cièdron stiffened and tentatively raised a dagger. "I will not do this Merionè. I will not fight you."

A veil fell over Merionè's eyes, shielding their deep blue depths once and for all from the lights of the sun, the sea and the very ones he loved the most.  Fate's final blow cruelly took away the last of the memories that gave Merionè weight and fought back the controlling arms of the oath.  "The choice is not before you." The voice was strange and reflected the dying breaths of regret within his soul, as if he really meant to say, "_The choice is no longer before me."_

Cièdron heard these unspoken words and with a sinking heart he understood the inevitability of what lay before him. The ivory clad daggers of his departed brothers, passed on to Legolas and him, shook in the Prince's trembling hands.  Eerily, the Orcs around them had cleared away, forming something of a semi-circle around the two elves. They hissed and cheered, making Cièdron feel as if he were a rooster in a cockfight. Beyond them, Bratherond battled his own cluster of Orcs.

"May the loser feed the rest of us!" one of the Orcs yelled triumphantly to the joy of his companions.

Cièdron's eyes darkened at this, but he fought the violent temptation within him to turn and unleash his fury upon the terrible creatures. Instead he kept his eyes on Merionè and satisfied himself by muttering darkly under his breath. "I will rip the limbs from each of you before you had a chance to come near either of us."

Suddenly, Merionè erupted into a fit of laughter, unlike any laugh that ever escaped the elf's lips. "An inexperienced prince against a warrior of Mirkwood! Do you really think you will win son of Thranduil?" He laughed again and then repeated his question only in a terrible language no elf could bear to hear.

Cièdron's eyes widened and he cringed as Merionè switched into the Black Speech.  His heart leapt to his throat in shock and he momentarily forgot he even had weapons in his hands as Merionè suddenly lunged after him, the black sword of the Orc raised.  Instantly, Cièdron regained his senses and met the sword with his own long daggers, gracefully dancing out of the way of Merionè's deadly swings – to those watching, it was like observing the swings of a ghost chasing a lightfooted bird, unwilling to fly away.

Bratherond shuddered at the Orcs' cheers.  The howls and hisses fell in peaks and troughs, quieting only to explode in a fury of drunken excitement. Above him the angry, tremulous sky calmed and the winds relaxed their wails only to be replaced by the shrill, bloodcurdling wails of Dol Guldur. Another chill shook Bratherond and his mind spun with warnings.

"Cièdron!"

He spun and struck down two Orcs, struggling to see beyond his own menacing cluster to where the flurry of energized cheers burst out of the crowd.  His stomach churned at every cheer and howl.  _They have him! _

"CIÈDRON!!"

With a gasp, Bratherond doubled over as an Orc took advantage of the elf's distraction with the ominous crowd.  But just as another tide of hoots and howls rose from the small sea of Orcs ahead of him, he straightened and struck the laughing Orc to the ground. 

"Perhaps the winner should feed us all as well! It's a two-for-one deal tonight boys!"

Bratherond froze and nearly lost his head at this shout. Literally. Though he ducked in time to miss the sword swinging at his neck, his rubber arms flayed at their chance to take down the would-be victor against him. With a leering grin, the Orc again raised his sword, ready to take his second shot at the faltering elf.  Panicking, Bratherond lashed out and struck the Orc's side with his sword, but the Orc still did not fall. With a swift kick, he knocked Bratherond down and another Orc suddenly appeared above him.

Bratherond rolled away from the sword only to feel the sharp edge of another strike his shoulder. Another flurry of cheers caused him to falter again before he could reach for his fallen sword beside him. With horror, he watched as a third Orc lifted it out of his reach and raised it against him.

"_Three _for one tonight…." The Orc laughed, clearly impressed by his own unimpressive joke. Bratherond desperately kicked out against the Orcs and writhed out of the way of falling swords. Though he succeeded in finally raising himself to his knees, the pithy extent of his success became apparent as the trio of Orcs raised their swords, one of which was his own, ready to release a triple bladed guillotine. Bratherond tried to back away, but only fell against the knees of a fourth Orc. The deafening cheers shut out all other noise around him and Bratherond groaned as he braced himself for his final breath. _Alas, the last noise I should hear is the applause of my companions' own falls! _

But before the blades fell on Bratherond, the cheers exploded at their highest peak yet and were abruptly cut off by a collective gasp. When moments later his head still remained firmly attached to his neck, Bratherond slowly opened his eyes and with a start found himself alone. The other four Orcs had quickly forgotten their vanquished prey and eagerly joined the awe-struck crowd.  Bratherond clumsily grabbed a dagger from a fallen Orc beside him and leapt to his feet.  Checking himself, he fought the urge to dive murderously into the crowd and instead quietly snuck up behind, grabbing another Orc sword on his way.  Even as Bratherond came within a meter of the crowd's edge, not one Orc paid the least bit of attention to him. His stomach once again turning at the implications of the Orcs' infatuation with whatever was occurring in the center of their circle, Bratherond's muscles tensed and his mind raced to figure out the best way to get into that center.  With a small sigh of resignation, he decided there was only one way to reach that center and after allowing a moment for his muscles to tense in preparation he dove murderously into the crowd.

Amazingly, the Orcs barely blinked their eyes at Bratherond as he swiftly gored three of the entranced spectators. Too interested in the battle unfolding before their eyes, the others could not care less about their fallen brethren or the furious elf taking down more of them one by one.  In a blink of an eye, Bratherond forced his way from the outer to the inner edges. But the sight before him caused him to pale and stagger fearfully to the smirking delight of the Orcs beside him who tightly grabbed his bloodied tunic. 

"CIÈDRON!"

The prince glanced at Bratherond before quickly turning to fend off another blow from Merionè. Bratherond warily eyed Merionè's fallen knife and returned his eyes to the prince's wounded side.  He then noted Cièdron now fought with only one knife. _Elbereth! Did Merionè have the other? Did he dare stab the prince with that knife!?_

His pulse racing as hot blood flushed his cheeks Bratherond struggled against the Orcs who now gripped tightly to each of his arms. But a bright gleam caught his eyes – the gleam of an ivory handle not far from where the prince now clumsily avoided Merionè's blows. Bratherond caught his breath and instantly whipped his eyes to Merionè's weapon – a glistening black sword, unlike any of the filthy swords of the other Orcs. Though Bratherond could not explain it, his mind screamed at the very sight of that sword.

"NO! CIÈDRON! CIÈDRON, TELL ME HE DID NOT WOUND YOU WITH THAT SWORD!"

Cièdron furrowed his brows at Bratherond's distant screams. _How do you think he stabbed me? With his nails? _he wanted to yell back. As he once again fended off a blow, he stumbled slightly from the pain that ripped through his side. Merionè fought as elegantly as he ever did, smoothly and skillfully outmaneuvering the comparatively inexperienced prince.   Cièdron gritted his teeth as his mind vacillated and floundered.  In a final attempt to reach Merionè, he used his waning strength to stop his opponent's sword in midair and catch his empty eyes with his own.

"Merionè, you know not what you are doing," he pleaded, his normally powerful voice breathless and weak.

No emotion whatsoever betrayed itself as Merionè swiftly brought his sword down and struck Cièdron's leg.

Gasping, Cièdron fell to his knees and his second knife dropped out of his hand to his side, a few feet away from the other. The ivory handles, dimmed by dirt and grime still stood out brightly amidst the steel colored land. With every last ounce of strength he forced his darkening eyes to focus on his opponent. Bratherond yelled feverishly above the Orcs' joyous howls, but they fell upon ears that no longer heard the cries of his friends. Cièdron dizzily looked up at Merionè who towered over him, his radiant eyes void of their previous soul.  As he caught those vacant orbs, the blood drained from his face and despite his best efforts to remain firm and proud, as he thought any soldier should right up until his final breath, his body shook uncontrollably with fear that only comes when one is suddenly faced with their own mortality – a fear that is tenfold for one who is too young to be prepared for such a journey. But it is one thing for a mortal youth to suddenly realize how precious and precarious life can be – it is another for an _immortal_ youth to realize even he could die. As Merionè slowly raised his sword for the final blow, Cièdron tightly closed his eyes and pictured the faces of his family and loved ones.  He let out a small sob as he thought of Legolas – how he had hoped to see him again! Just one more time! He did not even know if his brother still lived! With a shudder, he opened his eyes just in time to see the sword coming down on him and in a sudden panic, he scrambled out of its path, adrenaline pulsing through his veins despite the searing pain in his body. But as soon as he had escaped its original path, Cièdron found himself in the midst of a new path and he instantly knew his battle had become futile. Yet even so, the young elf, instinctively determined to cling to every thread of life offered to him, twisted and ducked away from each swing in a pathetically unbalanced test of survival as the impatient Orcs cheered on the deadly strikes of Merionè.

And at that moment, two minds coincided as perfectly as the moon and the sun during an eclipse. Legolas tossed frantically in his sleep as images of his brother haunted his darkened mind. His brother in pain. His brother on his knees. The image was so striking and poignant, Legolas released a small cry. 

The images lured painful memories into his tormented dreams and Legolas' sleeping body shook from the seismic shift within his mind. The entire world seemed to turn against all of them, and Legolas did not even have the strength to fight, to take the first step.  Indeed, one by one the Mirkwood elves were falling, giving way to the pain and anguish that Sauron unleashed against them. The future for them dimmed and the present became too unbearable. Thus they retreated into the past – Valinor and the ancient glory that filled the great tales of ages long ago.  This was the woodelves' escape from the world that no longer welcomed them.  _At least we do have the option – at least we can escape this world, if not our memories of it…_

But what of those for whom Valinor did not offer escape? To whom could they turn when all turned against them? What of those who chose to bind themselves to Middle Earth? What of those who forfeited their right to Valinor? What would be their fates?

What of those who claimed they tied themselves to nothing, not this world, nor the next? Is such a state of being even possible? Or were they slumbering souls, ready to waken when the incoming tides washed upon their guarded shores?  Ereb pondered these last thoughts as he wearily watched the prince toss and turn in his tormented sleep despite the calm murmurings of a kneeling woman at his side.  Not without regret, Ereb conceded that even he could not escape the oncoming storm. With a sigh he continued sharpening his knife against his whetstone, its metallic scratching nervously echoing through the dark, cavernous halls.

"And what do you plan on doing with him Ereb?" the woman softly asked in her own language. Her extraordinarily white hair, which did not match the youthfulness of her face, reflected the flickering torches of the cavern.

Ereb pursed his lips and hesitated before answering. "I do not know. I do know I want nothing to do with any of this. I am growing weary of being Rómen 's slave."

The woman frowned and continued to gently wipe Legolas' brow.  "He is young Ereb. We should help him."

Ereb's eyes flashed and he angrily shot up from his seat. "We will NOT help him!" he shouted, his voice echoing furiously off the cavern walls.  Though Legolas stirred slightly, other more powerful voices kept him in the world of dreams.

The woman turned away from Legolas and icily glared at Ereb. "And why not? You said you wished not to be Rómen 's slave anymore? You wanted nothing to do with this? Well, what better way to declare your independence than to release his little prize?"

"I said I wanted nothing to do with any of this - not that I wish to start my own war!" Ereb retorted, lowering himself again to his seat – a hard slab of cold stone.

The woman again faced Legolas and resumed her cleaning. "You have no choice Ereb. The war will come to you whether you bid it or not," she whispered.

Ereb furrowed his brows and stared quietly at the woman. "That is exactly what Rómen  said."

"Then Rómen  is not as insolent as I thought." She dipped her cloth into a small bowl of water and gently squeezed out the excess moisture before carefully dabbing the area around Legolas' shoulder. This bit of care relaxed her and she continued in a less agitated voice as she carefully prepared to stitch the gaping wound. "I saw today a group of warriors travel across these lands. They wore the garb of the Western elves. I presume they are returning to their King to tell him of the evils that are occurring outside of his wood… Yes, war will come whether you welcome it or not." The woman carefully examined Legolas' wound and gently traced her fingers over it before finally beginning the first stitch. She bit her lip as Legolas stirred and she gently placed her other hand over his. "Not yet, young Teler. Keep sleeping –the pain in your dreams is less than the pain you will find when you wake."

Satisfied that Legolas seemed to obey her wishes, she continued with her stitching. "We must release him Ereb. He is a prince. We ought not to play with the sons of Kings." When she completed the stitching of Legolas' wound, she once again turned towards Ereb, her amber eyes flickering with concern. "We wade deeply into the waters of the Valar's fury. I wish not to dive in further."

"The Valar?" Ereb breathed incredulously. "Since when did you fear the Valar? Kings yes, I could see why you would fear them, though _his _King hangs to his kingdom by a thread these days."

The woman did not answer right away, seemingly too distracted now in wiping aside Legolas' bloodied locks of hair. "I have always feared the Valar, Ereb. I feared them too much to ask for forgiveness for my ancestors' wrongdoing and I fear them too much to beg for their acceptance.  My fear dooms me to live in darkness.  But mayhap, I can at least do enough to remain in this world in darkness and not fall into the abyss that is neither darkness nor light." She stroked Legolas' hand and squeezed it as the prince stirred again, haunted by his tortured dreams. "Besides, if his father's kingdom hangs by a thread, that is all the more reason to return his son."

"I would not fear those who have forsaken you. And as for returning lost sons to their fathers, I do not believe that is our business." Ereb muttered. He then stiffened and carefully gazed around him. "Did you hear that?"

The woman looked up and listened to the deafening silence around them. She suddenly straightened and looked fearfully at Ereb. "Where is Lyrelle?"

Ereb's eyes flashed and he looked furiously around him. "Lyrelle!" he yelled, but only his own echoes returned. "Lyrelle!"

The woman quickly joined Ereb in his cries, but they were to no avail. Ereb unsheathed his dagger and turned to her. "I will find her – you stay here."

"I will come with you!"

"No! No, my love – do not worry, she probably wondered outside to play and cannot hear our calls….You stay here in case she should return."

Light footsteps behind him interrupted Ereb and the woman quickly rose to her feet just as a Sindarin accented voice greeted the two with a sight too terrifying for any parent to endure. With a gasp the woman fell to her knees and Ereb froze, too frightened to even allow his body to collapse.

"I think, Master Ereb, you ought to pay more heed to your wife's wise words and release Rómen 's 'little prize' or else I too shall have to keep my own _little prize.._."

**TBC**

Hey guys! First of all, as usual, thank you thank you thank you. Quick note – **Lollipop**: You were not the first to point out the "ok" – sorry about that! When I get really into writing, I tend to slip into modern vernacular – I usually catch it on the re-read, but then, I'm ashamed to admit, I don't always re-read…Anyway though, I do appreciate your reviews, including the "nitpicking" helps me to be a better writer.


	23. RECAP CHAPTER

**Chapter before 23: RECAP**

It has come to my attention that 2 years is a mighty long time for anyone to remember what the devil is going on here. So…. here's my attempt at a brief recap. (but mind you I am TERRIBLE at being brief, so this will probably be anything but…)

Long before the ring is discovered to still be in Middle Earth, Gandalf and Aragorn travel to Mirkwood to assess reports of the growing darkness. While there, Aragorn meets the royal family – Legolas, his older brother Cièdron, and Thranduil and quickly learns the darkness is indeed taking its toll on Mirkwood and her inhabitants. He also learns a bit about the royal family – that Legolas had three older brothers – 2 who tragically died while scouting southern Mirkwood when the reports first surfaced of a necromancer settling in Mirkwood, and 1 that left for the havens along with Legolas' sister and his mother. Needless to say, Legolas & Aragorn become instant friends.

Gandalf learns from Thranduil that many of his warriors who had been scouting the southeastern edges of Mirkwood have gone missing. The elf king is pretty distressed about this and the fact that Gandalf seems to have his eye on Legolas. He's been though a lot after all and already lost half his family… Anywho, they decide on a scouting mission to assess what's up with all this evil in Mirkwood. Suddenly, Merionè, one of Thranduil's best captains and a former mariner for Cirdan, bursts in, pretty agitated – his was one of the patrols that were missing. With him he has a mysterious bag filled with the severed braids from all of his scouts – he tells a story about how he had been forced out of Mirkwood into the Rhun where he and his elves encountered a strange clan of elves. They later ended up attacking them and sending Merionè back alone with this bag. Perhaps the oddest thing about this terrible adventure is that Merionè's elves were barely able to fight – they had been under some sort of spell or shadow that took a heavy toll on their spirits. All of this freaks everyone out & Thranduil calls a meeting to figure out what to do. Aragorn and Gandalf are at this meeting of course, as are Legolas and Cièdron. They decide on two scouting missions – one to Dol Guldur to assess the these Nazgul folk and one to the Rhun to try to rescue Merionè's elves and to figure out what's up out there. Much to Thranduil's dismay, Legolas volunteers himself for this trip. Then – to make things worse for the king – his other son insists on going to, not one to be outdone by his younger brother and more importantly, out of love and concern for Legolas. Merionè will also go as will another of Thranduil's greatest captains – Bratherond, a surly, disagreeable elf who after thousands of years of battle became rather biased against men (i.e. Aragorn) and weary of young, wide eyed princes (i.e. Legolas and Cièdron). But Bratherond swears to Thranduil he will return his 2 sons alive – so long as he lives, they'll live - and it is this unwavering loyalty that Thranduil admires in this elf despite his other less palatable qualities. Gandalf of course will also go. Before they leave, Thranduil gives his sons a gift – their dead brothers' ivory sheathed knives. And then it's a teary farewell and off to Mirkwood they go.

A lot of bad things happen as they travel south – a warg fight, group tension, a fire –. They soon notice Merionè is acting a little strange – detached, reticent – Gandalf and Aragorn both note this and suspect the elf isn't being completely forthright. At one point Merionè reveals that this clan did not keep their promise to him – that they would free his elves. But what the terms of this promise were aren't exactly clear – Merionè said he offered himself in place of them, but something still seems not quite right to Aragorn and Gandalf. Merionè also warns Legolas – who is to travel to the Rhun with Aragorn – that not only can he not trust anyone he meets out there, but he really ought to disguise his identity – they're not all that fond of woodelves out there. To help him with this, he takes Legolas' distinctively carved weapons, including the ivory knife Thranduil gave him (which he gives to Cièdron who will not be going to the Rhun) and gives him plain weapons instead. (I know - minor point, but I wanted to keep track of those ivory knives….). Also, through all of this, Gandalf is a little confused and disconcerted because the other Istari – Saruman, Pallando & Alatar were supposed to go out to the Rhun and do their goodly wizard business out there. The last two never returned, but Gandalf is not yet ready to assume anything bad about this… despite the fact that Merionè did tell of a strange being who wore a ring suspiciously similar to the ones the Istari wore who sent him off with that terrible bag when he left the Rhun.

Meanwhile, Bratherond can't seem to get along with anyone, particularly Cièdron as the two are probably the most stubborn of the group. At one point, Bratherond reveals that he was captain of the patrol Legolas' and Cièdron's deceased brothers traveled with and he who sent the two out to search for their sister the night they were killed (or actually one was stabbed with some nasty gunk that would enslave him to Sauron and his brother killed him to save him and then himself in grief). Cièdron is furious at this, though Legolas eventually convinces him to settle down – but not before Bratherond decides to wander off by himself. Aragorn & Legolas go out to look for Bratherond and get lost. At this point the fire happens and Orcs and Aragorn and Legolas are separated from the rest of them.

Fire, Orcs, a cliff, injury to Legolas; Fire, Orcs, injury to Cièdron who wants to find his brother. Gandalf leaves Merionè, Bratherond & Cièdron to go find A & L – but before he leaves he realizes something is seriously off with Merionè and he has misgivings about this whole mission. He's also worried about Cièdron who's spirit seems to be draining rapidly. Gandalf knows that both groups desperately need him and its not easy choosing to look for A & L, but he coldly calculates that these 2 are the ones he'll really need later on – he's a wizard with a heart though and this decision is not easy - so he sends word to Thranduil that things are not so great and they'll need help in Dol Guldur. Soon.

A & L meanwhile are slowly losing it – darkness, shadow, wails of Nazgul in the distance – it all sucks for them. Same for the other group as they move south. But eventually A & L make it out to the open air of the Rhun and for a short while at least, they're offered some respite. As for the other group – they're getting worse, Merionè particularly is getting worse.

Out in the Rhun, A & L encounter a strange lone elf – I don't think I mentioned his name yet, but this is Ereb – he'll be back later on. But for now, this elf doesn't offer any help in response to their requests for water or direction – just an empty canteen and he immediately recognizes Legolas as a Teler. And then he's off. So A & L move on and finally reach the Celduin, where Gandalf is waiting for them (those wizards…) So the three of them catch up and things are kinda pleasant until a sudden attack by a bunch of Rhun elves. During this attack, Legolas is lured aside by, to his terror, one of his father's missing captains- Reanur. Legolas doesn't know how to handle this – how to fight his own kin – and it isn't entirely clear if Reanur is the full traitor he seems to be. Rather it seems he has gone mad and is under the spell of Sauron or whatever evil Sauron has working for him out in the Rhun. Anyway, it is not Reanur, but another elf who strikes Legolas from behind and takes him away. When the battle is all over, Aragorn & Gandalf quickly figure out that Legolas is missing & to their dismay find that some of the felled elves were in fact Thranduil's own warriors. So of course, they go and try to find Legolas.

Meanwhile, big Orc battle in Mirkwood against Cièdron, Merionè & Bratherond. Things are going pretty badly for them until one of the Orcs recognizes Merionè (or perhaps the shadow within Merionè) and is quite happy at this – he orders the rest of the Orcs to leave just as they were about to take their final blows against Cièdron & Bratherond. This is a mystery to C & B particularly since the order was shouted in the Black Speech. This freaks them out, but what really freaks them out is the revelation that Merionè understood the Black Speech. Merionè then reveals everything that happened out in the Rhun – he didn't just promise himself over to the elves, he swore an oath to Sauron. He didn't think these simple words had any effect because he didn't feel anything until he began this scouting mission. And then, only as they got closer to Dol Guldur, did he feel the shadow grow in his mind – and he realized this oath was more than mere words. But C & B refuse to leave Merionè and they decide to try to get out of this wood and seek help for him. But to their dismay, they discover that no matter how far they seem to walk, they always end up in the same place and closer and closer to Dol Guldur, until finally they stumble straight into its barren base. Orcs, badness and Merionè falls completely and attacks Cièdron. Much to Bratherond's dismay, Merionè strikes Cièdron with not just any sword, but an Orc sword – and not just any Orc sword, but a particularly evil looking opal thing. So though it's just a relatively minor wound, whatever terrible gunk is on that thing does not bode well for Cièdron.

Cut now to Legolas who awakes in a strange cave. He walks out of it and stands on the shores of the Rhun Sea. There he meets Romen, one of the Rhun elves. He also finds a group of sullen, worn, and all around sad bunch of Thranduil's warriors – among them is Velsiur, the third missing captain and for some reason Velsiur doesn't seem quite so out of it. Physically trapped, but not mentally trapped like the rest of the lot. Romen tries to tempt Legolas to swear his loyalty to them (which in turn would mean swearing to Sauron) – and it is pretty tempting. If Legolas does this, Romen claims he can release the warriors – a prince's allegiance is worth all of them. Legolas hesitates, remembering what Merionè told him about trusting these elves (and Velsiur too had just warned him not to try to save them) but then Romen raises the stakes. He offers to release Merionè from his enslavement. This throws off Legolas because Legolas knows that Cièdron is with Merionè and he knows that just as Reanur fell, so will Merionè and just as Reanur turned against him, so will Merionè turn against his brother. Legolas is about to give in when Velsiur leaps in and threatens to kill the prince if he dares to swear such an oath. So this knocks some sense into Legolas and he rescinds. This angers Romen who then decides he will then just have to force Legolas into submitting. When Legolas demands to know the fate of the other warriors – Merionè had brought back 50 braids after all, Romen reveals he "let them go" just as he promised in return for theirs or their captain's oaths - except for Velsiur who did not give in. Velsiur's warriors were the ones Legolas saw and were now wasting away (assumedly the ones who's loyalty were sworn over either through Merionè or Reanur or of their own accord are now out wandering around the Rhun of their own "free will" and fighting on behalf of Sauron instead of just sitting at the sea, wasting away.). And then Romen kills Velsiur and knocks out Legolas. Turns out Ereb – that elf A & L had met earlier (I may not have revealed this yet in the story, but even if I did I don't think anyone will remember and if I didn't – well, this will still help a lot with the next chapter) – had been watching much of this disinterestedly. Romen sees him & tells him to take Legolas away and watch over him/heal him, while he goes over to inform Alatar of these events. Reluctantly, Ereb agrees and takes Legolas away. Romen also sends Reanur (who also watched this whole scene unfold) off with Legolas' bloodied cape to give to Thranduil – what better way to gain some leverage over the elf king after all?

But out in the desert, as he heads back to Mirkwood, Reanur struggles against the evil grip over his mind and upon seeing a strange woman elf and her young child – a woman he recognizes as Ereb's companion – he decides to follow her back to Ereb. A little later, this woman is in fact with Ereb, taking care of Legolas and arguing with Ereb over what to do with him. Neither is very fond of Romen, but Ereb is the reluctant sort who doesn't want to get involved in any of this. Suddenly, they realize their daughter – the little girl Reanur saw the woman with - is missing. And they suddenly hear a voice "suggesting" that they ought to release the prince if they want their little girl back.

Meanwhile A & G, encounter a loan warrior elf who escaped the Rhun – he's pretty much incoherent & he mistakes Gandalf for someone else, but before Gandalf could figure out who, he becomes more interested in what this elf has to tell him about Merionè's tale. Upon hearing what really happened to Merionè, A & G realize things are not going so well in Middle Earth at all – Sauron appears to be forming alliances and gathering his strength for war… meaning the ring must still be in Middle Earth…meaning Saruman was mistaken about it having left Middle Earth. They also realize they better find Legolas soon and get back to Dol Guldur to save the other elves.

And that's when I decided to go on hiatus and come back two years later with the end to the Cièdron, Merionè, Bratherond tale, "Bratherond's oath." I'll move on to Legolas, Aragorn, Gandalf, Thranduil very shortly & then bring this whole thing to an end. I think that should be everything, and hopefully this crazy bit of my overactive imagination makes some sense.


	24. Bratherond's Oath

Hmmm…. So how long has it been? 1… no…maybe 1 and a half? No… ok, 2 years – 2 YEARS since my last update – is that right? Could it really have been so long? Sigh – I'm afraid law school has a way of distracting me from the important stuff. But now that I've graduated and have a little spare time on my hands as I study for the bar, I think I'll try to finish this up… Not that I really expect there to be any readers left, but for my own peace of mind, I will bring this story to an end. And so, without any further ado….

**Chapter 23 **

**Bratherond's** **Oath**

The shadow of Dol Guldur loomed ominously over the barren, steel land. Distant shrieks shook the air, but otherwise the forest was quiet except for the boorish laughs and excited murmurs of a dozen Orcs crowded in a circle, their short attention spans gripped by the extraordinary battle in front of them. An elvish prince of Mirkwood, once proud to a fault, now danced dangerously close to death at the hands, not of an Orc, but of his very own guardsman. A guardsman who had lost all sense of reality as he gave in to the dizzying vertigo of lies and deceit, embedded in his brain with the muttering of a simple oath - an oath that bound his mind and bent his spirit. The Enemy's nefarious spirit burrowed into the troubled depths of the very beings that fought him, turning brother against brother with sinister, enticing lies and deceptive promises that ignited the lust and avarice in the purest of hearts.

Bratherond gulped nervously as he stealthily pressed through the thick crowd. _There is no hope of saving Merionè now_. _Valar forgive me for what I must do_, he prayed as he momentarily shut his eyes to the terrible scene before him.

In the midst of the gray shards that punctured the metallic land surrounding Dol Guldur, the Orcs held their breaths and awaited the final blow against Prince Cièdron - a blow that would end this one small battle, but ignite a conflagration in the waning kingdom of Mirkwood. Could one prince's death be enough to toss Mirkwood's uneasy inhabitants into the bubbling cauldron of war that had been simmering under a loose lid ever since Sauron's fingertips graced the perimeters of Greenwood?

Yes, this was all the Enemy needed. The final insult. One by one the King's family had been stripped away. One by one another match was lit and thrown into the voracious flames. Just one more match and all of Mirkwood would be set ablaze with the combustible oil of Thranduil's temper. But who would help Thranduil now? Would the apprehensive men of the West come to the aid of a volatile elf King in a cursed wood? A King who did not even have a ring of power to protect his domain?

No. The men of the West would not come to Thranduil's aid. And they never would, at least not so long as Greenwood remained Mirkwood. But suppose that men and elves and perhaps even those other strange races of Middle Earth joined in a war against Sauron on many fronts besides that of Mirkwood? Suppose attacks were waged from all corners of Middle Earth and the Enemy's attention could be diverted, at least momentarily, from this wretched wood?

These thoughts raced through Bratherond's head as he finally felled the last Orc blocking him from his kin's battle. He did not know for sure if such a day when the races of Middle Earth would join together would ever arrive – he had seen too many battles to count on the loyalty of Men, and he certainly was not prepared to trust the other races of Middle Earth.

But then there was Aragorn. Indeed, the coarse ranger had impressed Bratherond with his wisdom and loyalty. Perhaps then there was hope for Man…perhaps there was hope for a renewed alliance… And then perhaps there would be hope for Mirkwood if she could just hold out a little longer… If Thranduil could hold out just a little longer….

Bratherond's muscles tensed with these thoughts as he watched Cièdron's desperate situation in the center of that terrible congregation of Orcs. To go to war now would be to condemn Mirkwood to death, to relinquish what was left of the elven wood to the concentrated powers of Sauron. _My oath to Thranduil is more than to protect his son. It is to save Mirkwood. Should Cièdron fall, Thranduil will fall into madness. And should Thranduil fall into madness, Mirkwood too will fall. _

In one swift move, Bratherond straightened, pulled out his sword and focused his fiery eyes on Merionè. "Alas, your time has now come, mellonin," he murmured.

Before they had a chance to react to the elf beside them, Bratherond beheaded the Orcs surrounding him and leapt furiously into his companions' battle. He swiftly struck down Merionè's falling sword, engaging him in battle before his deadly blow could reach Cièdron. _Nay Sauron – you will not gain control over Thranduil so quickly. Not through this son. Not this time. Not yet. Not so long as I still stand._

The sudden gift of life- a chance to continue breathing the air, foul though it may be - can be a dizzying shock to even the haughtiest of immortal young elven princes. When his mind finally accepted that it still remained in a head that still held its rightful place firmly attached to neck and body, Cièdron's hand instinctively grabbed his throat as if to confirm that he still lived. The smooth skin against his hand and the clinking of swords above him stirred him from this momentary shock. Like a squirrel scurrying away from a diving eagle, he quickly scrambled away from the new battle that unfolded around him. Though his body begged him to allow it to collapse, the angry shouts of the disappointed Orcs alerted him to the fact that this battle was quickly going to expand – he was a squirrel not in the path of one ravenous eagle, but rather a flock of ruthless vultures. Unable to find both knives, he clumsily grabbed one ivory handled dagger and forced himself to his feet, gladly slaughtering the very Orcs that only moments ago had cheered for his death, all the while battling his own lightheadedness. With a few helpful swings from Bratherond whenever he had a moment's respite from Merionè, the Orcs soon lay dead or wounded around them and the few left wiggled away from the deadly duo. Cièdron remained standing until the last two skirted his blows and fled the battleground. He then gave in to the overwhelming nausea that pulled on his mind and collapsed with a soft, drawn out moan. Shouts, murmurs and howls faded into the fuzzy whimpers of phantoms and specters, prophesying the coming of a bloody war, far bloodier than anything Cièdron could ever imagine. Bloodier than any of the inhabitants of Middle Earth could ever imagine. _A war to end all wars…_Cièdron sighed as he allowed his head to slowly succumb to the blackness that surrounded it,

"Not now Cièdron! Get up!"

A rough hand pulled Cièdron out of his daze and to his feet. Cièdron shook his head and focused his blurry vision. "Brather…I… I don't…the darkness…"

"You are stronger than the darkness, Thranduillon! Now fight it!" Bratherond hissed gruffly as he forced a discarded Orc sword into Cièdron's trembling hands before quickly turning to meet Merionè's calculated blows.

Cièdron staggered and clenched tightly to his sword as he viewed the battle between Merionè and Bratherond. Like a choreographed dance, each smoothly met the other's blows and Cièdron wondered if perhaps they would be frozen in this battle for all of eternity so equally matched they were in skill and grace. With a cursory glance at the leering Orcs behind him, who seemed to be debating whether to step into this fray or not, he narrowed his eyes and slowly stepped towards the elves' battle. As his hands tightened around the sword's smooth sheath, he released a shaky breath and murmured a quick prayer. _It is time this battle ended, once and for all._

The air escaping the clashing of swords and wailing winds whipped through the trio's hair. Cièdron pushed a pale, errant lock which had escaped his coarse braids away from his cerulean eyes and readied his mind and body for battle. _Imagine, we are at the foot of Dol Guldur where Orcs and Valar knows what else dwells and we are fighting each other, _he thought ironically. _Is this what you intended Mithrandir?_ Cièdron winced at the scorn that bit at this last, blasphemous thought and fought back the sudden critical judgment he felt towards the revered wizard. _Even the greatest of wizards may founder after all – for who besides the Valar themselves can claim perfection?_

Bratherond glanced to his side and met Cièdron's fiery gaze. He then quickly turned back and fended off more of Merionè's blows. "Hannon le, Cièdron you truly do have the blood of kings," he whispered under his breathBut when he turned again and caught a better glimpse of Cièdron, Bratherond's heart jumped to his throat.

"Cièdron, behind you!"

Bratherond swiftly turned on his heel and instinctively threw his sword like a lance at a looming shadow behind the prince. The next moment unfolded both instantly and as slowly as a ticking clock. Dumbfounded by Bratherond's sudden panic, Cièdron turned in time to see a giant, hideous Orc collapse behind him with Bratherond's sword lodged perfectly in the center of his neck. He then turned again in time to catch a weaponless Bratherond duck out of the way of Merionè's sword and then swiftly swing his leg to trip Merionè. Though Merionè lost his sword as he fell towards the ground, he quickly found Cièdron's other discarded knife and grabbed that instead. Yet Bratherond, in an almost unreasonable obsession with the black sword Merionè just dropped and had previously used against Cièdron, focused his attention on grabbing that instead of keeping out of the way of Merionè. Before Cièdron even had a chance to move a foot towards the two, Bratherond rolled over and Merionè dropped his knife on him.

The black sword fell loosely from Bratherond's grip, its opal blade shimmering tremulously as it fell to the ground.

"NOOO!"

Forgetting the pain in his side, the nausea in his stomach and the cloudiness of his mind, Cièdron leapt at Merionè the moment he tugged the knife out of Bratherond's flesh. But to his surprise, when his sword clashed with Merionè's knife, the latter fell loosely from Merionè's grip. Cièdron started and followed Merionè's stunned gaze to the ground beside them. A moment later Merionè's gaze seemed to pull him to his knees at Bratherond's side.

Shocked by the blow, Bratherond carefully lifted a hand from his stomach to reveal a dark, sticky wound, surrounded by an ominous, growing red circle. The elf blanched at the sight of his own mortality draining from his body and he turned fearful, questioning eyes towards the speechless Merionè.

In an inexplicable panic as the evil hold on Merionè's mind temporarily loosed its grip, perhaps out of sheer cruelty to torment the elf, Merionè ripped at his own tunic and tried to stop the terrible bleeding. Cièdron too quickly dropped by their side, but when he glimpsed the wound, he halted, becoming as still as the silenced air around them. All the clothes on his back could not absorb the blood that rapidly drained from the elf's side. With grim realization there was nothing more he could do, Cièdron halfheartedly ripped a part of his tunic anyway and gently placed it over the wound, if only just to comfort Bratherond. He then shifted and cradled Bratherond's head.

Cièdron bit his lip and stroked the elf's cold cheek. "Bratherond, forgive me…"

Bratherond's face contorted in pain and he weakly lifted a hand and laid it over Cièdron's. With great effort he moved his mouth to speak, but no voice lent itself to Bratherond's words. Cièdron shook his head sadly and lightly squeezed Bratherond's hand. "I know what you wish to say…"

Bratherond's eyes flitted wildly and the elf finally mustered the strength to release a raspy whisper, barely audible against his own breath, but laced with his characteristic annoyance all the same.

"No! You…" he paused and squeezed his eyes shut before brusquely resuming, "do not."

Cièdron raised his eyebrows and leaned in closer to Bratherond. Suddenly, Bratherond's clammy hand shot up and grabbed Cièdron's pallid face, drawing it close to his own. In the seeping gray mists of Mirkwood's dreadful graveyard, the two elves locked gazes not as a challenge, but out of respect and even endearment. Behind them, Merionè gazed intently with empty blue eyes, much as he had watched the body of Oropher laid to rest, many ages ago.

Bratherond's face relaxed slightly as he gently stroked the younger elf's cheek and made a valiant struggle to gain enough breath to speak.

"Cièdron, your wound… you must get help….must get out of here and get help...that sword…you'll be taken…"

Cièdron tensed and was about to respond when Bratherond shook his head anxiously and continued. He lifted his other hand from his wound and despite the blood dripping off his fingers, cradled the prince's face. Cièdron did not wince at the sticky liquid that stained his fair cheek and Bratherond sternly narrowed his eyes. "Do NOT fight me now, prince. Do as I say… For once, listen to me…"

A small smile tugged at Bratherond's blue lips and his hand lightly ran over Cièdron's forehead, smearing it with streaks of red. "Stubborn, spoiled fool. You have proven yourself a thousand times over to me. Now return home so your father will learn of your feats." He paused and his eyes widened slightly as he added softly. "I promised your father, Cièdron...I promised at least one son would return…"

Tears welled up in Cièdron's eyes and he grabbed Bratherond's hand. "And mayhap Legolas already did."

Bratherond glanced sharply at Cièdron. "You will too, Thranduillon. You will too." Suddenly, Bratherond's eyes shone proudly and then froze. A final breath escaped his lips carrying away the elf's demons and neuroses once and for all.

Cièdron froze and his eyes widened at the sight of Bratherond's suddenly lifeless body. They then rapidly scanned the elf's face and limbs, searching desperately for a sign of his now departed soul. With a choked sob, he dropped Bratherond's hand and impulsively backed away in disbelief as if death itself was a contagious virus.

"No, no it cannot be…" he breathed softly and he again leaned in and closely examined Bratherond's vacant eyes, not knowing what else to do and not sure death was a phenomenon he could truly bring himself to believe in even now that it laid itself before him, open, true and cold as any other tangible object one could feel and carry in their hands.

Cièdron jumped in surprise when suddenly a long hand rested momentarily upon Bratherond's eyes and closed the lids hiding once and for all those stubborn blue orbs.

Silently, Cièdron slowly raised his head and met Merionè's somber, distant gaze. Ice shot through his veins at the sight of those frigid eyes, but Cièdron did not say a word. It was Merionè who finally spoke.

"I know not what I do," he whispered in a trembling voice, a voice that revealed its lack of self-control, its loss as to whose soul it now belonged to.

The words fell flat in the sporadic winds and Cièdron did not answer. The ominous winds bemoaned the continuing death and destruction of Mirkwood, whose heart slowed at every new death among her once blithe keepers.

_Tell me, Ada, what is it we are fighting for? Why are we here? We should have long ago left these shores. _Cièdron closed his eyes momentarily from this nightmare and unconsciously ran his hand over his wound. He frowned when he glimpsed the purple streaked blood that soaked his tunic, remembering the time Legolas had been struck by a spider not far from their home. Poison had nearly killed his brother. Poison , whose singular mark now streaked his own vulnerable blood. But he pushed these memories and the sickening realization of his own fate out of his mind and rested his eyes again on Bratherond.

If only it had been just poison.

"We must take him away from here." He shuddered at the very thought of the Orcs finding the elf's body.

Merionè looked up and watched as Cièdron slowly stood and struggled to lift the body.

"Wait."

Cièdron raised a suspicious eyebrow at Merionè's command before slowly straightening to his full height. With a soft prayer, Merionè lifted the vial of ocean water from his neck and slipped it over Bratherond's. "Forgive me my brother."

Cièdron's stance softened and hot tears stung his tired eyes at this tiny gesture. A cool breeze teased Bratherond's soft mane and Merionè had to carefully untangle the strands of hair that wrapped around the charm's string as he laid the vial on Bratherond's chest. Soft prayers fell from Merionè's trembling lips and Cièdron turned away, unable to watch the scene before him. With a long sigh he closed his eyes and joined in Merionè's prayers.

_Ortírielyanna_ _rucimme, Aina Eruontari, alalye nattire arca·ndemmar sangiesseman ono alye eterúna me illume ilya raxellor alcarin Vénde ar manaquenta…Ortírielyanna rucimme, Aina Eruontari, alalye …_

Suddenly, a high pitched shriek shook the air around them causing Cièdron's eyes to snap open in shock and Merionè to double over and collapse with a scream.

When the shriek died, Cièdron shakily dropped his hands from his head and gazed fearfully at Merionè who now trembled violently as he shouted and writhed in pain.

"They are coming! Ai! They are coming, they are coming!"

Cièdron stumbled forward and grabbed Merionè's wrist, but quickly recoiled as Merionè lashed out against him, shouting again in the dreadful Black Speech. Another screech shot through the air, accompanied by another terrible yell by Merionè.

"Cièdron! They are coming! They are coming for me!" Merionè yelled again, though Cièdron understood not one word of this, hearing instead the terrible cadences of the Black Speech.

Cièdron breathlessly turned and staggered as a hideous winged creature flew out of the gaping tower of Dol Guldur. His eyes widened and he jumped to his feet as the winds fiercely regained their previous strength like a tornado descending upon them whipping furiously the few lighter objects that dotted the barren land.

"We must go now!" he whispered, his voice shaking uncontrollably from fright. "We must go…Merionè, we must…"

Cièdron clumsily got to his feet and again struggled to lift Bratherond, but stopped as Merionè suddenly tightly grasped his slender wrists.

"They are coming for _me_ Cièdron. Just me."

Cièdron pulled back his arms and tripped over a small rock as he backed away, shaking his head in confusion at Merionè's strange speech. "We must go…We must… Where are the horses!" He frantically turned and searched the surrounding forest, calling out desperately to their loyal companions.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity as the winds and screeches ripped the air around them, an anxious neigh answered his call and he spotted three horses hiding in the shadows of the wood.

"Merionè, come! We must go!"

The winds now whipped dust and small pebbles impeding the elf's vision as the mind numbing wails muted all other sounds in his ears.

Merionè lunged at Cièdron causing the elf to once again lose his grip of Bratherond's body just as he attempted to lift it. Merionè's frenzied eyes matched the furious winds and he fell to his knees at the prince's feet, beside the body of Bratherond. He then tightly gripped the elf's legs before reaching out and again grasping his wrists.

"They are coming for me Cièdron! They are going to take me! He is going to take me! I cannot escape, I cannot…" Merionè's words inexplicably slipped again into the Common Tongue.

Cièdron stared wildly at Merionè. "You can! We must, Merionè we must…"

"No! You do not understand! They will come for me wherever I go! Nay! They already have me! They have my body, and now they come for the rest of me! They have me as their slave and now they come to seal my fate for this world _and the next_!"

Cièdron gaped fearfully at Merionè, but could not find the strength to speak. Merionè dropped his wrists and then grabbed his black sword – the very Orc sword that had so concerned Bratherond - and held it up to Cièdron.

"You must do for me what I do not have the strength to do myself," he whispered. "Alas, I do not have the strength of your brother who now roams the Halls of Mandos. Please, Cièdron, you must…there is only one way for me to escape."

Cièdron gaped at the sword and backed away, still shaking his head. "No, no Merionè, I cannot…" he breathed.

Another shriek echoed against the trees and Merionè continued to hold out the gleaming black sword. "Cièdron, please! If they kill me, I am theirs! Do not let me fall to this fate! Do not let me suffer these delusions any more! Release me! My prince, I beg you – release me!"

When Cièdron still made no move to take the sword, Merionè's arms fell limply, though the sword remained in his hands. "Please. Allow me the honor of dying by the hands of a son of Thranduil rather than the dagger of the Nazgul. Let me die by your sword Prince and then mayhap the Valar will have mercy on me and allow my soul to enter the Halls of Mandos! Do not condemn me to this fate, Prince Cièdron! I may deserve it, but I beg of you to have mercy on me! I would that I die by your honorable hands than the enslaving hands of Sauron!"

Merionè yelled again at the next shriek and he coiled into a trembling ball. "Do not let them take me! Take me before they can! Please!"

Cièdron's mind raced frantically as Merionè trembled, on his knees before the prince. Could he do it? Could he kill one of his own? Would that not make him a murderer? Or would it be worse to leave his companion to the terrible fate that now swallowed him and taunted his mind? Cièdron now had the power to give Merionè the escape he desperately longed for. The escape that blessed men, but was denied the Eldar who had to shoulder the ever mounting burden of the years for as long as the world may last – or at least until those burdens became too heavy for any heart, even an elvish heart, to carry.

Slowly, Cièdron lifted the black sword from Merionè's hands and raised it over the trembling elf. But before he could bring it down, Bratherond's yells and final words echoed in his memory. _TELL ME HE DID NOT STAB YOU WITH THAT SWORD… YOU MUST GET_ _HELP – YOU WILL BE TAKEN. _

With a start he dropped the sword as if its steel handle had scorched the palms of his hands. When they were first spoken, Bratherond's words made little sense to him, but now dreadful realization washed over Cièdron as suddenly as a tempest. He warily eyed the sword's tip and with a rapidly sinking heart he noted the black liquid oozing over its tip. He then swiftly looked down at his own wound and stumbled from a sudden, debilitating fear as his mind made the connection between the poison in his own blood and the poison on the tip of the sword. The Enemy's sword. It's pearly black sheath glowed despite the lack of natural light. '_Tis more than mere poison..._

Merionè slowly looked up and opened his mouth to continue his pleas, but Cièdron met his gaze before he could speak. "I cannot do it with that," he stated flatly, his voice hollow as he struggled to control his fear. "Alas, I do not know where I dropped my knives…"

Merionè shuddered. "Prince Cièdron, please, I beg you…"

Cièdron bit his lip at the desperation in Merionè's eyes, but he did not say another word as to the sword, not wanting to burden Merionè's already heavy heart with yet another boulder of guilt. Merionè did not know the sword he used was tainted with a spell worse than mere poison. He did not know he had already sealed Cièdron's fate with the very one he so dreaded and now begged Cièdron to release him from.

Controlling the tears that blurred his vision, Cièdron reached behind him and pulled out his bow. He then quickly dislodged two arrows from a felled Orc beside him. "I cannot do it with that because it will take too much of my strength," he whispered lamely, unable to come up with a better explanation.

Merionè stiffened and sat up as Cièdron raised his bow. "Thank you, Prince Cièdron. Please find it in your heart to forgive me. Tell your father everything and ask him to forgive me. I have only ever wanted to serve him. I have failed, but I do hope your father will weep for me."

Cièdron's hands shook and he could barely see his target through the thick veil of tears that covered his eyes. "Merionè, we could leave…."

His trembling voice was interrupted by another wail and Cièdron looked up in time to see the Nazgul swoop down above them. In a desperate final attempt to avoid the painful act he almost had to carry out, he lifted his bow and took aim at the beast. But his solitary arrow had no hope of finding its deadly mark on the body of either the Nazgul or his steed. Rather, he only succeeded in angering the Nazgul and with another shriek the creature dove towards Merionè. Merionè yelled and cowered as the creature raised his knife in preparation to land his fatal stab on the elf in just a matter of seconds.

"Now! Do it now! Please!" Merionè shouted.

A storm of swirling pebbles and dust cluttered the air and confused Cièdron's senses. In a panic, Cièdron shot his last arrow as the Nazgul dove through the chaotic cloud of debris towards Merionè.

The fierce wind and shrieks suddenly fell silent and Cièdron slowly lowered his bow. The cries of Merionè now only echoed in his mind. Through a wall of tears, Cièdron observed the elf lying motionless at the foot of the Nazgul, a single elvish arrow lodged in his heart.

The Nazgul bent over Merionè and instinctively, Cièdron grabbed the black sword he had dropped earlier and raced towards the creature swinging it madly. But just as he came within feet of the Nazgul, the Nazgul leapt onto his steed and with a shriek they shot up above him.

After a swift glance at his retreating enemy, Cièdron dropped to his knees at Merionè's side. With a cry he grabbed the elf's head in an embrace and dropped his own head into the soft, pale blond hair which now muffled his uncontrollable sobs. After what seemed like hours, though was probably not even a minute, Cièdron lifted his head and grimaced as a shriek cut the air above him. With every bit of strength left within him, he steadied his shaky breath and pulled Merionè closer to him. "You are free now mellonin. Go now to the sea – do not go to Mandos' halls, for your heart does not belong there. To the sea, to the sea….," he whispered softly. Suddenly, Cièdron straightened and he repeated. "To the sea…that is where you belong…." With a burst of energy, he turned and glanced at Bratherond and the panicking horses in the distance. "Where you both belong."

Another shriek reminded Cièdron that the Nazgul did not yet fully retreat and he hurriedly whistled for the horses as he gathered Merionè in his arms.

All three horses obediently came to their remaining master's whistle and Cièdron quickly laid the bodies of Bratherond and Merionè on one of them. As they slowly began to slide off, Cièdron frowned and rearranged the bodies so that one lay on top of the other. He then leapt on to the horse behind them. _Thank the Valar for the light bodies of elves, _Cièdron thought as he reached over and grabbed the horse's mane. With a brusque elvish shout, the horse broke into a sprint, closely followed by her two companions.

As the Nazgul shrieked above and circled the tower of Dol Guldur, Cièdron and the bodies of his former companions disappeared back into the gaping cavernous forest of Mirkwood.

**TBC**

A Quenyan translation of Sub tuum praesidium.


	25. The Children of Ilúvatar

**Chapter 24**

**The Children of Ilúvatar**

Distant cries disturbed Legolas' already troubled sleep– high pitched howls merged with hollow moans, screeches with sobs, some from his dreams, some not, and all indistinguishable from each other. Though his mind could not immediately comprehend what these cries were, they eventually succeeded in pulling Legolas out of his sleep and into the waking world, like sirens luring him out of the comfort and ignorance of deafness to reality.

"_I think, Master Ereb, you ought to pay more heed to your wife's wise words and release Rómen 's 'little prize' or else I too shall have to keep my own little prize..."_

Legolas tensed uneasily at these words. What terrible threats were these? The voice was eerily familiar – like an old companion…or enemy….

_Reanur._

Legolas's eyes snapped open as he suddenly recognized the voice of this traitor and a flood of memories inundated his mind. But as soon as he bolted upright he was forcefully pushed down. The sudden force against him caused the elf's mind to lurch nauseatingly, and he shut his eyes again against the sudden onslaught of dizziness.

"_An even trade._ _You release my prince, and I will return your daughter."_

With a soft groan, Legolas shifted his weight and again tried to lift himself up. "What…what is this?" His soft, hoarse voice barely made its way from his parched throat.

"Keep him down!"

Legolas gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, but again, a forceful shove pressed him down. "Reanur? Reanur, what is this…Who is here?" he demanded, just as his head slammed into the stone slab beneath him.

As he began to drift back into unconsciousness, soft murmuring and the panicked scuffling of feet teased Legolas' ears with indecipherable words and acts. As the whispering and scuffling died away and the competing sirens of silence threatened to seduce Legolas back into his dreams, he finally decided to force his body to wake completely, this time determined to fight any force that dared to press him down again. Against the iron grip of unconsciousness pulling him in, he gradually pried open his eyes. After this tremendous feat was accomplished, he determinedly strove to push himself up, but a hand once again pressed his uninjured shoulder and forced him back down, making a mockery of his determination to remain upright against all forces.

"Shhh…. Be at peace TelerI will not hurt you," a nebulous voice, its unique intonations emanating from a land unknown to Legolas, murmured softly through midnight's thick veil amidst the sudden soft murmurings of the cavern in which he now lay.

Legolas stiffened with surprise at this new voice, having fully expected the other being with him to be Reanur after hearing his voice earlier. Confused, Legolas struggled to focus his blurry vision so he could identify this mysterious caretaker and attempt to locate Reanur. His muddled mind struggled to recall how much time had passed since he heard Reanur's voice. An hour? A day? A minute? Did he ever even actually hear Reanur's voice or perhaps this was all a dream? A frustrated groan escaped Legolas's breath as his eyes finally rested on the strange woman elf kneeling before him, gently wiping his brow. She was not beautiful as other elves were – no glow emanated from her pallid features besides the haunting amber sparks of her wide eyes. Legolas tensed and attempted to move away from her, but a soft hand on his shoulder again held him down.

"Stubborn Teler, will you not give up your fight trying to sit up? Do you not see it is rest you now need?"

Legolas furrowed his brows, but relaxed slightly as something in the elf's soft demeanor succeeded in tentatively gaining his trust. He marveled at her bright, pale hair and unusual yellow dress made of delicate linens, so unlike that of any elf he had seen before. He then quickly lifted his head as another grating voice spoke in a language he did not understand. Again, Legolas noted that this voice also did not belong to Reanur. _Perhaps I did only dream that Reanur was here then? _With a small gasp, Legolas's bright eyes rested on the same elf he and Aragorn had encountered their first day in the Rhûn – the one who had recognized his race immediately and scoffed cruelly at their plea for water or help. The same elf who later Rómen identified as Ereb. Ereb's eyes rested on Legolas, noting the young prince's recognition of him, but still continuing angrily in his own strange language.

"For innumerable turns of the moon I have wandered these lands, always to the border, but never beyond, for I know my place. I know the decisions those before me have made, I know the fate I have been born into and I do not fight it, I do not try to change it. I do not try to change the past nor do I fight the present or hope for a new future. My life is as it is." Ereb's hands nervously flew about him as he enunciated each sentence, his voice emanating in troughs and peaks.

Legolas narrowed his eyes at this tirade, unsure whether Ereb even realized he could not understand a single word of it. "What is it you speak of, Master Elf of the Rhûn?" Legolas whispered cautiously.

The woman elf remained stoically silent, carefully pressing a steaming cloth to Legolas's forehead as Ereb continued, his eyes shifting from Legolas to her. "He is a fool. He should never have come here. Why should one of the "chosen", one of the "accepted" come here other than to laugh at our fate? Or does he think he can save us? Ah yes, 'save the lost ones, those solitary rebels who know not what they do - show them the way, lead them to grace.' Look what he has done!"

The jingling of ivory jewels dangling from Ereb's belt accompanied his heated diatribe. "They are all fools! Those who call themselves children of Ilúvatar are as foolish as the Easterlings. Fighting, fighting, fighting. And for what? For power, that is what! Power over each other! Power to say 'it was I who chose the right path. It was I who followed the light and found grace as you suffer an ignorant, barbaric existence.'"

Ereb paused and fixed his cold gaze directly at the woman elf. "And that is the greatest mistake of all! The Valar did not _choose _them – _they _chose the Valar. And we did not. And there is no more to say of the matter. No one was right, no one was wrong, we simply follow different paths to the same goal – happiness, peace…Only they think happiness and peace can only be achieved with power over each other. Only if everyone is on the same path. That is why they are fools. I only wish to have power over myself. I only judge my own path, my own choices…We are pawns in their game! The madness of it!"

With these words, Ereb fell silent and considered the elf prince before him, who had continued to silently watch and listen to this speech with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. A shudder shook Ereb's body and he glanced nervously around him before leaning in close to the woman elf. "I say we carry him out to the desert now and be done with it. Give Reanur exactly what he demanded and _be done with it_. Let Reanur take this creature away! Surely he will only kill him later, but what do I care? Then we will leave – you, me and Lyrelle– we will leave this place, leave Rómen, live our lives alone and in peace…We will be outlaws, but we will be free...I have had enough of being enslaved to the whims of these power hungry tyrants! I will not allow us to be pawns!"

Though Legolas still could not understand the speech, his ears immediately picked up Reanur's name. _It was not a dream. He must be here. _With a start he struggled against the woman to raise himself completely. "Is he here then? Is Reanur here?" his agitated voice interrupted Ereb and caused the latter to release a frustrated sigh and turn away from the prince.

For the last time, the woman pushed Legolas down and ignored his question about Reanur. "We will do no such thing!" she violently hissed to Ereb, continuing the conversation in their strange eastern language. After dropping a stern glance at Legolas, ordering him with her eyes to remain prone, she gracefully rose to her feet and lowered her voice so that it was barely audible against the drips and scuffles of the cave's numerous leaks and rodents. Carefully, she looked pointedly at Ereb and continued so softly even Legolas's keen ears could barely discern her voice. "Yes, we will release him just as Reanur demands. But that does not mean we will release Reanur with him. _Reanur_ will take _no one _away."

Again Legolas raised his head when he thought he heard Reanur's name, desperately trying to make sense of this scene before him.

Ereb raised his eyebrows and whispered back. "Saving your own child is not enough for you? Will you truly put her life at risk! No! I will not allow our daughter's life to be toyed with! We shall hand him over! Now!"

The woman's eyes flashed defiantly and her lithe body visibly tensed with irritation. "_You _are the fool then, Ereb! You want power only over yourself? Well enough, but you cannot keep it by disregarding the fates of others. Reanur is the pawn of Rómen who is the pawn of Alatar who is the pawn of Sauron. You let Reanur have his way, then you are letting all above him have their way."

Ereb's eyes darkened. "And is it Sauron you fear? I thought it was the Valar you were enslaved to…" he stated flatly, almost mockingly.

"Nay. It is our own kind I fear," the woman sighed. She then straightened and coldness returned to her flickering eyes as she held Ereb's gaze. "I do not wish to play this game at all, but it seems we have no choice now Ereb. He is the son of Kings. With a flick of my knife against his throat I can start a war to end all wars. Or I can hand him over to one who will do this for me. You may only want power over your own being, but whether you will it or not Ereb, with this prince here, in the palms of your hands, you now have the power over all of these 'fools.' Will you start the war Ereb? Will it be you who galvanizes one King to send his armies into these lands? And then what will happen to your own peace and happiness? Your so-called 'power over your own being?' What power will you have then?"

She bent down again at Legolas' side and ran a hand over the uncomprehending elf's cheek. "We may not be of the _Eldar_ kind, but we need not be as brutish as the dark ones either, Ereb. We are not Morgoth's creatures. We may still retain some will of our own and do what our hearts tell us is right."

Though Ereb frowned, he did not respond to any of this. He mulled over these words for several long moments and finally fell to his knees beside Legolas, dropping his hand carefully on the elf's forehead. "I do not fear the Valar, and you are wrong to fear them, for when have they paid any heed to you?" he whispered.

He then swiftly unsheathed his knife and lightly ran its ice cold blade against the elf prince's throat. "But I do fear war." Legolas' eyes met Ereb's and the two firm, regal gazes hiding parallel paths of pain followed by hundreds of generations behind them, locked in a momentary understanding.

Ereb pressed the knife to Legolas' neck causing the latter to freeze with a well controlled fear, though he made sure never to remove his eyes from Ereb's own chilly green orbs. "Perhaps you are right about this power we now have, though it is my belief war will now happen no matter what we do." As the woman held her breath, Ereb tightened his grip on the knife and his face twisted into a terrible sneer before he brusquely lifted the blade away from Legolas and roughly placed it back in its sheath. With an angry sigh, he turned and hissed softly to the woman. "You are right, Reanur will not have him."

Ereb stood up and walked briskly away from Legolas. "I will make sure of that. War will not start by my hands."

As the two elves continued to speak conspiringly, Legolas's bright eyes leapt from face to face, striving to make sense of the incomprehensible ancient language that flowed gracefully off their tongues, as sweet as a trickling waterfall, as archaic as the ancient Quenyan texts that lined the shelves in his father's library. He shook his head in bewilderment as the sudden sensation that he had somehow fallen out of the Third Age and into those shadowy times before even the First Age sent chills down his spine. He examined the woman elf carefully. "_Her hair stole the birch tree's bark and her eyes' borrowed the maple tree's sap. She was both the oldest and youngest elf I had ever seen – a ship waiting to depart, but too frightened to leave the shore and so waiting for the ocean to take her in," _he would one day tell his brother.

_Cièdron would roll his eyes and smirk at his brother's musical whimsy. "Sometimes you are both the oldest and youngest elf I have ever seen, little brother. Lucky for you, I am always so old even when you are so young." _

Legolas shook his head slowly at the memory of Cièdron's words, spoken so long ago, in a context he could not even remember now. How strange they should cross his mind now, even as he merely conjured up his tales of adventure to relate to his brother.

With a small cough, Legolas caught the woman's attention and with a curt nod to Ereb, she quickly kneeled at his side, this time allowing the elf to sit upright.

"_We are not so different, you and me, young one," _she murmured gently. Legolas' eyes widened in surprise when he realized he could understand these words as the woman had switched to the Common Tongue. "We are both in our own ways trapped. Let us hope we have not yet reached such a hell where those who suffer the same enslavement fight each other. Let us hope we do not forget our common beginnings despite our divergent paths."

Legolas cocked his head curiously and gazed inquisitively at the woman. "Does a mere difference in geography make our paths so divergent?"

A little startled at this strange question, the woman paused and raised a thick, arched eyebrow. "Yes," she answered matter-of-factly. "It does." Leaving no room to argue, and offering no further argument, the elf stiffly resumed her caretaking, and finished bandaging Legolas's shoulder.

"You will not stay here," Ereb suddenly interrupted, also speaking in the recognizable Common Tongue. A strange gleam lit his eyes as he glanced at his companion, finally revealing to Legolas a hint of the emotions that lay under his stoic facade. He then knelt by her side and to Legolas' growing surprise, began patching the torn, bloodied remains of his tunic.

Legolas glanced at the woman who watched Ereb – was she his sister? His lover? With another look at Ereb, he decided on the latter. A small smile tugged at his lips at this silent discovery as he watched her sternly observe Ereb care for him, daring him to say something she disapproved of. Even in these dark times, Legolas could not resist the subtle beauties of elven love and devotion, and to find these forces within these strange, perhaps even threatening elves before him, momentarily lightened his spirit. He then glanced again at Ereb and noted the previous animosity in his tense features had melted away. Legolas shook his head in bewilderment at Ereb. "I do not understand – what is it you speak of? I thought I heard…"

Legolas stopped suddenly as Ereb poured a burning liquid over a wound on his forehead, causing him to catch his breath in pain. "Women have much more sympathy for the enemy's children," he explained, ignoring Legolas' gasp as he carefully patted the wound with a warm cloth. "Lucky for you, she has convinced me not to cut your throat."

This comment caused the woman elf to join them and yank the cloth from her companion. "It is our duty to keep them safe from war, as we are elves not some barbaric Orc race," she said pointedly.

Ereb sighed. "There is no way to keep our children safe from war," he responded softly.

The woman gazed sadly at Legolas. "Then we ought not to have war," she whispered.

Touched by the emotion laced into her voice, Legolas again momentarily forgot where he was and how he had gotten there, and the mystery of these two elves. Suddenly, memories of his own mother gripped his mind – her soft voice warming even the coldest of nights, her gentle hands wiping away his tears and her silky hair in which he would hide from the terrors that taunted and abused their home. For a moment, Legolas could smell the familiar birch and lilac scents of his mother, feel her timeless glow and her infinite heartache that ate at her and finally stole her away from the enchanted woods that considered her one of their own.

Abruptly, Ereb stood. "Enough already. He must go now." He then motioned for Legolas to look behind him where a powerful dark mare stood, shrouded in the cave's dancing shadows. "You will ride her along the river. You can wear this," he said, removing a thick large cloak from his shoulders. "Keep the hood up always – mayhap all who might see you from afar will mistake you for me."

Legolas's eyes widened and he gaped at Ereb. "You would give me your horse! Why! Why are you doing this?"

The elf cocked his head and frowned slightly as he took in the rapid speech of the young prince – clearly he was not completely at ease with the Common Tongue. But it was the woman who finally answered. "We have children too." Legolas noted the pain that strained her voice and filled her eyes.

Ereb pulled Legolas up and though the elf faltered slightly at the lightheadedness that overcame him at the sudden movement, the rest the two elves had allowed him succeeded at least in somewhat abating the multiple pains in his body. Nevertheless, the woman quickly grabbed his arm and steadied him, running a swift hand over his forehead and face to make sure no fever or chill endangered his health. Though her hand neither met fever nor chill, her eyes still revealed deep concern and she quickly grabbed a small goblet as Ereb placed his cloak over Legolas' shoulders, pulling up the hood so that Legolas' face fell into shadow.

"Do not question your benefactors, young prince, just be grateful not all here agree with the likes of Rómen," he said sternly. "She is right – Rómen does not have children. Nor does Sauron or any of the agents he uses, at least not that I know of…I never wished to have any part in these wars, I only wished to live in peace, for my family to live …" As Ereb spoke, his voice grew in frustration and anger, but he was abruptly cut off by his companion who also had grown increasingly tense.

"You are right," she said in her own language. "He must go now." She pursed her lips and then remembering the goblet in her hands, she clumsily handed it to Legolas. "Forgive us for our haste… It is just that… Well, there may not be any more opportunities… Our time runs short…"

This time Legolas lay his own hand on the woman's shoulder and smiled gratefully. "I understand. But, please, I thought I heard Reanur…"

The woman narrowed her eyes and squeezed his wrist, bringing her face within inches of his. "Speak no more of that fiend," she hissed. She then leaned in even closer and brought her voice so low the drips of the cave thundered in comparison. "Your mind is not playing tricks - he is here and he plans on following you out of here."

Legolas stiffened and reflexively reached for his knife – only to realize he had no weapons. As panic washed over him, the woman elf dug her fingernails into his arm and pulled him in until her eyes nearly merged with his own. "He will not follow you, prince." The words barely made it past her gritted teeth and Legolas almost wondered if perhaps this message had been conveyed by her determined eyes, so silently it had been communicated. She then moved away as Ereb shoved a bow, arrows and a knife into his hands.

"I will give you some food as well which you can safely eat when you can no longer see the Rhûn Sea," Ereb's gruff voice boomed after the hushed words of his companion. With a frown, as if disappointed in himself for taking any time at all to show concern for the elf, he took another look at Legolas's shoulder and tightened the bandages around it. He then handed him a small pack filled with food and a canteen filled with water. Legolas gazed curiously at this canteen as it was similar to the strange canteen Ereb had carelessly thrown to Aragorn in the midst of the desert –only this time it had water in it.

Legolas shook his head disbelievingly and grasped the elf's shoulder. "Hannon le, mellonin," he said softly. "If ever you wish to leave here… I will remember you… You will be welcome in my home."

The elf hesitated and then, to Legolas's surprise, smiled tentatively while shaking his head. "I do not belong in your world, Teler. I have not seen your light or followed the summons that have led your people to grace. Our fate is here…" An odd look contorted his features and he hesitatingly placed a hand on Legolas's shoulder. "When the stars fall from the sky, we will meet again. Until then we must remain under our own stars, our own lights."

Legolas cocked his head and considered this for a moment, his eyes glittering at the elf's words, for they easily could have been spoken by one of the elves of his own kin. "But do you not see? The stars here are the same as those above me. They shine differently, but they are the same."

The elf smiled, this time with more sincerity, and turned away. "Aye, they shine differently," he sighed. He then faced Legolas again and frowned when the latter did not immediately mount the steed. "You must go _now _Teler!" he said firmly. "You will not be given a second chance!"

The haunted expression returned to Ereb's eyes as he carefully backed away from the prince. Legolas turned to the woman who quickly averted her eyes. With a small bow in gratitude, Legolas turned and carefully mounted the horse. He then gave it a quick Sindarin command, expecting it to fly out of the cave and into the empty desert from which he came. But instead of listening to the elegant elvish commands the horse snorted contemptuously and remained perfectly still. Taken aback that a horse would pay no heed to his commands (after all was it not a gift of elves that they had the ability to command the attention of even the most hotheaded mares?), Legolas furrowed his brows and repeated his command while giving the stubborn creature a soft nudge with his foot. When the horse merely stamped its hoof in response, Legolas looked up at Ereb, his eyes betraying his confusion at this strange reaction from the horse. "This is a rather peculiar horse you have Master Elf of the Rhûn. Is she always so stubborn?"

Ereb, who had been too amused by the horse's devotion to her master to aid Legolas, released a small chuckle at Legolas's question. "She does not know your commands, I am afraid…" Legolas raised an eyebrow and bent in towards the horse's ear, rapidly whispering soothing commands that never failed to tame even the wildest of horses.

But just then, Ereb released a cry in the strange language he spoke earlier and the horse obediently broke into a sprint out of the cave, taking Legolas at least slightly by surprise. A moment later he dove into the night's dark abyss, fleeing the forsaken lands of the Avari under the watchful eyes of the sparkling sky.

Just as Legolas left the cave, a third elf stepped out of a shadowy alcove. The two elves regarded this third one and bowed their heads coldly, but respectfully. Reanur smiled sadly at the two and released a small child who quickly ran into the arms of the woman.

With a small cry, she fell to her knees, tightly embracing the white-haired child.

"Hannon le," he whispered as he sheathed a long dagger. "I will leave you in peace now...It took rather long for you to let him go – my mind wonders what it was you were speaking of for all that time. A shame I never could pick up on that strange language of yours… " Reanur muttered, as he casually turned away. "Should we ever meet again, you shall teach me some of it…"

Ereb eyed Reanur closely, his intense green eyes poring into his soul with a thousand daggers. "You will be leaving no one," he growled softly.

Reanur started and turned nervously. "Ah, but I must go to Thranduil…as Rómen ordered… you heard him….and now, with these changed circumstances.. I ought to watch over the prince also…as he returns…"

Ereb's eyes flashed dangerously as his hands carefully wrapped around the knife at his side. "I believe Rómen only wished for you to bring the prince's cape, not the prince himself –that agreement has clearly been breached…"

Reanur's eyes widened and he too grasped the knife at his side. "Rómen will kill me if he finds me here and the prince gone."

"And if you go, you will kill the prince and Rómen will still kill us. I have no desire that you be the only one to survive this ridiculous game."

Reanur opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden, scorching headache ripped through his brain causing him to drop his knife and double over with a desperate scream.

Ereb's eyes widened and the woman nervously pulled her child closer. "Ereb, he is mad!" she murmured in fear.

Slowly, Ereb walked up to Reanur and stood ominously over him.

"It returns! Ai! Ai! It returns!" Reanur cried as he writhed pathetically within Ereb's looming shadow.

Suddenly Reanur reached out and tugged desperately at Ereb's tunic. "You do not understand - it is he that forces me to do these deeds! It is he that guides my hand and poisons my mind!" Reanur frightfully sputtered. "You must forgive me my deeds, Master Ereb! You must! I know not what I do, but you must forgive me for I am fighting! I am fighting to do right against these voices…You see, I helped the prince – I kept him from Rómen , I saved him! And now I must go back – I must – it is the only way I can be saved. Thranduil….nay….Mithrandir, yes Mithrandir can save me! If I could hold out until then…hold out and ensure Legolas reaches…."

"ENOUGH!" Ereb angrily grabbed Reanur's collar and swiftly pulled him up with a jolt.

"I watched as Rómen cruelly brought down your own people one by one. I watched and did nothing. I watched as you and the others fell into darkness, betraying your own and I did nothing. Yes, you did help your prince, but I gather from your display here, you would not be willing to help him for long," Ereb hissed, his own face inches from Reanur's. "This game has gone too far. I do not care anymore whose bidding you do. I do not care about the voices in your head and I do not believe you when you say you can fight them. Nor do I believe this Mithrandir you speak of can do any good – I have seen what 'good' the Istari are capable of."

Ereb pulled Reanur closer and continued, "You demanded release of your prince – you received it. And now I demand that you let him live. He will not be used as Rómen's tool. I will make sure of that."

"Then you will help my people?" Reanur whispered as his body's violent trembling subsided slightly.

Ereb narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on Reanur's collar. "Yes. I will help your people."

Reanur's lip trembled and he gazed fearfully at Ereb. "How?" he breathed nervously.

With a smirk, Ereb slowly raised his dagger. "Tell me, Reanur, how do you bring down the perpetrator of such cruelty?" he asked, basking in this opportunity to turn Rómen's cruel and humorless riddle against him.

Reanur's eyes widened and with a gulp he fell limp in Ereb's grip. "Yes, I do deserve this," he whispered as he then closed his eyes against another searing headache. _Forgive me Thranduil_.

"You bring down his agents…"

_I only ever wanted to serve you. _

"One …"

_Alas how fate had me carve my own doom. _

"by…"

_May Vána still pass my grave…_

"One."

With one swift stab, Reanur fell limply to the ground in a growing pool of blood. Ereb then turned to the woman elf who hugged the girl close to her chest, shielding her from the gruesome sight.

"I fear the Teler will not be the only one in hiding this night. Mayhap your Valar will have mercy on us." Ereb quickly sheathed his knife and walked over to the other two. "Our time has finally come. Let us leave this world now, and escape these wars before they start."

**TBC**

I just want to give a quick thanks to the reviewers – I really, really did not expect a single one, so even just getting a few made my day and inspired me to press on. Dot, I do remember you! How wonderful it is to see you're still around! Thanks!


	26. The Puppetmaster

**Hey, sorry no new chapter - I've been out of the country for the past 2 months and have been unable to work on this, but I just got back and I noticed FF cut off part of this chapter, so I'm reposting the full one. Sorry about that! I hope that's the only time that has happened... Anyway, a new chapter will be coming within the next month  
**

**Chapter 24**

**The Puppetmaster**

Like distant ships, the stars above sailed across a rich, velvety sky, darkened by her infinite depth and singed with the fiery willowy tendrils of a new sun rising in the far distance, competing against the waning glow of the moon. For hours, Legolas soared through this empty ocean, an infinite vacuum of stars and dust. His mind raced with the memories of the past few days and all he had learned.

The memories tugged and taunted his troubled mind, teasing it with a slew of dizzying, impossible decisions and burning images.

The foamy waves quietly lapping against Velsiur's cold body. Vacant enslaved eyes staring helplessly at him, beseeching him for help, threatening to lure him in. _I have abandoned them. I ought to go back! Save them, give them back their hope! _

_But how!_, his mind yelled. He could barely stand in the presence of Rómen, let alone offer any real challenge to whatever magical influence he held in these lands. _Alas, it is not even Rómen who holds influence, but some other, far more powerful being I fear. _ He did not even know what nefarious spells he was up against! The poison that taints this world runs in many streams, in many colors. So many evils had yet to even be discovered.

_What am I, but merely an elf with a bow?_, Legolas drove his horse to a halting stop as he thought this, shutting his eyes against the swirling desert surrounding him, allowing the gentle laps of the Celduin at his side to entrance and soothe his chaotic thoughts.

_Tell me, Ilúvatar, guide me! I know not what I ought to do! Show me my place_, Legolas silently prayed. But the cool wind ignored his prayers for Ilúvatar's songs traveled not to these forsaken lands. Hesitantly, Legolas turned his horse around and stared out into the soulless desert from which he came. A slight tremble shook his lithe body. "_He _is here," Legolas breathed. His eyes inadvertently darted to the direction of Mordor at this thought and again he shuddered as his entire body absorbed the evil that permeated more and more of Middle Earth. _His being has conquered these lands. It all begins here. _

"Show me my place!" Legolas repeated, this time aloud as he continued to gaze at the distant lands around him. "What would you have me do? What? What would you have me do, Ada?" Legolas yelled to the empty winds surrounding him. When only the whipping sandstorms around him answered, he gulped and turned around again, setting his elven gaze on the distant borders of Mirkwood. "What would you have me do, Mithrandir?" he whispered, as his eyes leapt from one dune to the next. "What would you have me do, now that I am alone, now that we are all alone, with nothing but our faith and our strength to sustain us?"

Ilúvatar's voice may not travel these winds, but the spirits and voices of his family indeed seemed to carry the wind herself, so strongly they echoed in the troubled elf's mind. The evil that slowly consumed Middle Earth stretched far beyond even Legolas's imagination. It would take many years still, even despite his dark past, to fully harden himself against the fight ahead – to fully understand his place in it. Though a part of Legolas begged to dive now into these grand battles that would mark the history of Middle Earth, a larger part of him knew now was not the time for history to be written. Not yet. He was not yet ready for such risks…such sacrifices.

Nay, the only battle that Legolas wished now to fight was the battle for his home. His family. For the right to not have to suffer the pain of yet another loss.

For the right to have something to fight for when the battle for Middle Earth finally began. How his mind and body ached for the songs of the trees, the lively banter of the woodelves, the sun's warm rays creeping through the emerald leaves that still graced his father's palace, his father's perturbed scolding whenever Cièdron unfairly pinned all the fault for some trivial mischief on him…Legolas smiled sadly at the memory of Cièdron's purple feet – tattoos of a time when such silly punishments actually seemed perfectly appropriate and normal – and indeed hilarious.

Now it only seemed absurd. His heart suddenly heavy with nostalgia, Legolas realized such times of frivolity were long gone. He and Cièdron could never again be the elves they once were.

Ereb's horse neighed impatiently as these thoughts consumed Legolas's mind. "Peace, my friend. It is time to take me home." With a slight pull on the mane, Legolas directed the horse towards Mirkwood and she broke into a swift gallop beside the deep turquoise river Celduin.

As the beige dunes swam swiftly beneath his horse's feet, Legolas nearly fell into a trance staring into the nothingness before him. Just as he thought for sure his mind would slip away into elvish dreams, three distant figures caught the elf's attention. Though he slowed his horse to a trot, he quickly prompted her back into a gallop as he discerned the identities of two of the three figures.

_Two brothers, both in the palms of the enemy.__Why did you do it, Gandalf? Why did you bring them out here? Into the hands of the enemy? Why bring more pain to this already distraught family? Why be the cause of yet more grief in this tormented wood?_

_Because they volunteered?_ _Because they're among the finest archers in all of Mirkwood? Because if anyone ought to know the Enemy it is the heirs apparent of one of Middle Earth's grandest elf kingdoms? _

_Or was it to test them? _

_And what if they should fail this test? What will the cost be? _

_Ah, but what about the benefits should they pass? To have Oropher's spirit returned to Middle Earth. The blood of Thranduil on our side, in the wars ahead. Too many have left for the Havens and the Halls of Mandos. It is time for a new generation of warriors to replace them. _

As they traveled swiftly towards the Rhûn Sea, Gandalf fell into his own thoughts, catching Aragorn's attention with indecipherable mutters.

Finally, the ranger held out his hand to signal to the wizard to stop. "Gandalf!"

Gandalf swiftly brought his horse to a halt, confusion flooding his eyes as he woke from his musings. "What is it Aragorn?" he demanded impatiently.

Aragorn pursed his lips and brought his horse closer to the wizard. "I reckon that you have been mumbling to yourself for the past three hours."

Gandalf raised his eyebrows and pensively rubbed his beard. "Three hours? Three hours, no, no, no… surely, it has not been three. Two, two and a half at the most, I would say, but not three, Master Ranger, not three."

Aragorn stared incredulously at the wizard. With a quick wink, Gandalf waved off Aragorn. "Bah, Aragorn, do not concern yourself with the muffled musings of an old man."

But before Gandalf could order his horse back into a gallop, Aragorn rode in front of the wizard, blocking his way.

"Gandalf, you and I both know even the muffled musings of the Istari are nothing to be brushed aside." Before Gandalf could respond, Aragorn held up a hand and continued. "A test, Gandalf?" he asked carefully.

Gandalf stiffened and then quickly relaxed, his head softly shaking as he released a small sigh. "You know there was more to us visiting Mirkwood than aiding King Thranduil. We must always think ahead, Aragorn. It is the greatest necessity of our time – that we never cease planning, never let the Enemy gain too many advantages. We must prepare even if we do not know what it is we are preparing for. We must find our allies and train our soldiers." Gandalf paused and looked pointedly at Aragorn. "From the moment I saw him win that archery tournament many human lifetimes ago, I knew, Aragorn. _I knew_, he would have some role to play in the battle that may one day consume Middle Earth – the battle that I was sent here to be a part of," he whispered.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "You mean he would be of _use _to you?" he replied icily.

A sad, strange gleam lit the wizard's eyes. "Do not make the mistake of painting the spectrum of our relations into black and white, _Estel_. I love him as I love all those who look to me for guidance in these troubled times, as I love all the sons of those I fought beside. But I am not a father, nor am I a protector. Mayhap, I can at least be a friend, but my ultimate duty is to something greater than all of us."

Aragorn's features softened and he heavily turned away, his eyes following the lapping river beside them.

"And what of the others?" he murmured. "What of his brother? Are they not of use to you?"

Gandalf straightened and this time, he rode in front of Aragorn, forcing the ranger to look directly at him.

"By the Valar, Aragorn, do you not understand? We are all being tested! We are all here for a reason! Not just Legolas! Legolas may be my protégé, my own experiment, but my personal choice does not diminish the worth of the fights, the valiant, fights, the valiant _devotion_ of any of the others! I am not omniscient, I am not all-powerful – I am _not _the puppetmaster you think me to be in this! I am no more than another pawn in this great scheme. I do what I can with the powers I have, just as any one else would. And I will not abandon any of them – do you understand, Aragorn? We will _not_ abandon the others!" Though Gandalf began softly, his volume increased steadily until these final words echoed loudly in the quiet desert around them.

Having forgotten about the elf accompanying him, Gandalf glanced wearily at him and with a huff turned away from Aragorn. The elf stared wide eyed at the two others. "I fear the darkness of my poor wood has affected even the strongest of minds," he finally said quietly, interrupting the tense silence around him.

Aragorn shook his head and gazed steadily at the ground. Finally he sat up and gently kicked his horse's side. "Come, if we are to reach the others in time, we must find Legolas as soon as possible," he gruffly commanded.

With a nod, Gandalf gave a hoarse command and followed Aragorn. For a few moments, they hastily followed the Celduin when suddenly, Gandalf halted and with a swift wave of his hand, ordered Aragorn to do the same. Aragorn followed the wizard's gaze and immediately caught sight of what had caused him to stop. In the distance a lone rider swiftly raced towards them. Aragorn narrowed his eyes, but could not make out the face of the rider as a dark hood covered his slender features.

Beside him, Gandalf released a small chuckle and dismounted his mare. Suspicion still held tightly to Aragorn's mind however and it wasn't until the rider finally was close enough so that he could see him that an uncontrollable grin pulled on his lips as well and he quickly climbed off his horse to greet their visitor.

"Get a little lost mellonin?" Gandalf called merrily.

Without a word, Legolas stopped in front of the two and paused briefly, taking them in as if trying to convince himself these two unruly beings truly stood before him. He then carefully dismounted his horse and stood stoically before the wizard and ranger.

Gandalf's face quickly dropped at this uncharacteristic greeting. "Legolas! Are you well?" he asked worriedly.

Aragorn moved forward and eyed the elf closely. "There is a story here. This cloak is not yours...neither are these weapons, nor your horse," he muttered. Legolas remained silent as Aragorn examined the cloak between his fingertips, noting it's delicate, linen like quality.

"Whose is this?" the ranger softly inquired. When Legolas still did not answer, Aragorn dropped the cloak and squeezed the elf's shoulder. "Legolas! Where did you get this cloak, this horse?"

Gandalf warily studied the horse and moved closer as well. "Legolas?" The wizard's voice betrayed his growing concern and he gently brought an aged hand over the elf's cheek. "By the Valar, lad, tell me they did not take you as well," he murmured under his breath.

Legolas did not remove his steady gaze from the ranger. He had wanted to give his companions a proper greeting, a greeting that displayed his immense relief to find them in these bewitched lands, to know they were safe despite the storm engulfing them. But suddenly, inexplicably, Aragorn seemed so strange, so distant to the young elf – this human, this King of men who he had known now for a few months at best, a mere blink of an eye in elven years, a mere heartbeat even in the ranger's own life measurement. _How strange for him to bother himself with these matters of woodelves in these forsaken lands._ _How strange that our lives as elves can be as delicate as his. _These thoughts transfixed the elf and he did not even realize how strange his demeanor appeared to the others.

Finally, with a small shake of his head, Legolas abandoned these reflections. _Of course, these matters ought to concern others besides the woodelves! And Aragorn is one of the few, perhaps the only one of his race, who now realizes this. _

"Legolas, mellonin, speak!" Aragorn fought back the rising panic by hardening his grip on the elf's shoulder and giving him a small shake.

Finally, Legolas dropped his eyes from the ranger's gaze and turned his head behind him, fixing his focus on some distant point Aragorn did not even bother trying to discern. He then turned again and rested a more relaxed gaze on Aragorn. With a small smile, he placed a hand on the ranger's shoulder. "Suilad, Estel"

Aragorn vainly struggled against the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Suilad indeed! Is it your desire to plague us with worry?"

Legolas ignored this question and turned his gaze once more to the right.

"Tell me, Aragorn, isn't Gondor to the south west of here, bordering these lands?" he queried softly.

Aragorn started at this question, taken aback by its seeming randomness and irrelevance.

Gandalf raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. "Gondor? Why do you speak of Gondor Legolas? Do you know something?"

Aragorn studied the elf to no avail and then answered carefully, "Ithilien lies between Gondor and these lands, Legolas. It is the kingdom of Rohan that borders these lands directly."

When Legolas did not immediately respond, Gandalf tightened his grip nervously on his staff and narrowed his eyes. "Legolas, do you know of any plans against Gondor?"

Legolas continued to study the distant lands, empty and vacuous as the sky above them. "Nay, Mithrandir, I do not know of any plans. But I do know their true king is on the brink of discovery." This time, when Legolas turned again, his gaze shot at Aragorn like a dart. "And the lands of men are the most vulnerable lands here after Mirkwood. My mind speaks of a growing evil that will stretch beyond Mirkwood to those even weaker than us. The plans laid in these lands are far too grand for my humble wood, Mithrandir," Legolas paused and released a small sigh that carried with it the breath of a thousand departed souls. "The black magic that has been conjured here has a far larger purpose than merely vanquishing a dying forest."

Legolas paused and faced the wizard, his eyes betraying a fusion of youthful fear and ageless wisdom.

"They took me to the Rhûn Sea where I saw a sign of what is to come. I saw both the future and the past, the beginning and the end of my kind. I saw our fate, entwined in the foam of the sea."

Gandalf eyed Legolas closely. "I have learned long ago to pay heed to the riddles spoken by elves. For it is when their speech is the most obscure that the truth is the most completely revealed. Tell me, Legolas, what is it the future holds then?"

Legolas held the wizard's gaze as Aragorn watched in silence, awed by the mysticism and majesty of these otherworldly creatures before him. A soft breeze tickled the wizard's beard as he waited patiently for the elf's answer.

Finally Legolas spoke. "War."

Gandalf sighed and turned away in order to hide his disappointment and frustration from the elf. "Aye, Legolas, this I already knew," he murmured.

Aragorn frowned and placed a hand on the elf's cheek. "And what about _you _Legolas. What of your fate?" he whispered.

Legolas started and turned his bright eyes on the ranger. "My own fate?" he repeated confusedly.

Aragorn nodded. "Aye, Legolas. The fate of the elves is as sad and deep as the sea herself. The fate of Middle Earth is bound in war and misery. I have no doubt of what it is you prophesy, and I have no doubt it will be the lands of men that will first fall. But it is you, mellonin, that my heart worries for now."

Gandalf raised his eyebrows at this and turned again towards the ranger and elf. _You old fool, Gandalf! He comes back from Elbereth knows what agony and torture and all you care for is the information, or lack thereof, he happened to gather! Thank the stars for the keen wisdom and heart of Isildur's heir! _

Legolas carefully considered Aragorn's question. "I did not give in to their seductions and trickery, if that is what you fear, Master Ranger. I did take Merionè's warnings to heart, despite everything that I saw," he answered vaguely.

"I do not doubt the strength of your will against them, but I do fear the strength of their poison nonetheless." Aragorn's eyes fell on the elf's shoulder which Legolas had unconsciously been rubbing. "Who stabbed you, Legolas?" he asked softly, his voice wavering slightly as his mind conjured a terrible fate for the young elf, a fate that mimicked that of his older brothers.

Gandalf stiffened and followed Aragorn's gaze. He then carefully removed Legolas's hand from his shoulder and lifted the cape so that he could peek at the wound through his ripped tunic. As he gingerly ran his fingers over the quickly healing wound, he shook his head. "No Aragorn, they would not do it that way. Not with Legolas. Far better to gain control of his mind and spirit than merely his blood which could be cleansed and cured of whatever poison should run through it. You escaped, did you not Legolas? Before they had a chance to bend your mind, no?" the wizard asked as he gently pulled the cloak over the elf's shoulder.

Legolas nodded slowly. "Aye, Mithrandir, I did."

As Gandalf began to turn away, Legolas suddenly grabbed the wizard's arm. "Mithrandir!"

When the wizard again faced him, surprise etched into his features at Legolas's uncharacteristic spasm, Legolas quickly removed his arm, and bowed his head in confused shame. "Forgive me, Mithrandir…I…"

"Thranduillon, there is nothing to forgive! Tell me, what is it that troubles you? What? What devil consumes your soul, Legolas?"

Legolas's eyes widened and a slight tremble shook his body. "Mithrandir, they told me they would save Cièdron!" he blurted, slowly losing all his previous control and stoicism. "They told me, if I did as they asked, if I….that they would save him!"

Gandalf exchanged an uneasy glance with Aragorn, and Legolas continued, "Many of them were there, Mithrandir. My father's soldiers, his captains - they were there, imprisoned by the Avari. Others had been let go, but they too are imprisoned…in a far worse way, I fear…" Legolas shuddered at this thought and continued, "It was Reanur who took me and Velsiur was there as well." Legolas dropped his eyes as he recalled the loyal captain. "Velsiur died…He was killed…trying to protect me…" With a quick gulp, the elf raised his eyes again. "The others however…they are lost….Merionè is lost."

Legolas's hands tightened into fists and his eyes bounced from the wizard to the ranger. "I was told I could save Cièdron, save him from Merionè …that they would make an exchange…"

Gandalf held up a hand to stop Legolas's sudden uncontrollable outburst and the elf obediently froze mid-sentence. He shifted uncomfortably and lifted his chin in slight defiance. "We must go to Dol Guldur, Mithrandir…"

Gandalf nodded and dropped his eyes from Legolas's gaze. "Aye, Legolas, we know."

Legolas stiffened and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "You know?"

Gandalf sighed and placed an uneasy hand on his horse. "Yes, Legolas we know," he answered, motioning towards the lone elf they had found earlier, quietly seated upon the horse.

"Prince Legolas, you should know…you should know, that none of them…not even Merionè…none of them, betrayed you Prince," the emaciated elf whispered fearfully.

Startled by these words, Legolas eyed the lone elf that accompanied the ranger and wizard. The elf quavered in the wake of the Prince's steady gaze. "Alas how my poor heart has suffered in these lands, and how it continues to suffer at this grievous news you bring of Master Velsiur! Even so, to see you here brings me some relief at last... Mayhap, we will be so lucky with the other prince," he murmured.

Legolas faltered at these words. "Luck? Luck!" With a swift turn, he once again faced Gandalf. "Mithrandir, would you place my brother's fate in the hands of mere luck?"

Aragorn narrowed his eyes and carefully watched the irritated elf, his hands folded calmly before him as Gandalf's eyes flashed furiously. "Fool! You dare to accuse me of such frivolous means? Of pinning your family's fate on a fool's hope! On _this _fool's faith in luck!" As he enunciated these last words, he pounded his staff in the ground and glared angrily at Legolas. The other elf bit his lip and cowered in the wake of the wizard's wrath.

For several long, tense moments, no one spoke a word as Gandalf slowly mounted his horse. Finally, the wizard turned again and gazed down at Legolas who continued to gape incredulously at him, his eyes revealing the tension and disappointment in the wizard, while his body displayed all the restraint he could possibly muster to prevent him from challenging again the wisdom of the Istari, knowing he had already overstepped his bounds. Gandalf read these thoughts and released a small sigh. _It is time he realizes even the Istari are not all-powerful – that even I may let him down. _

"We had to save you first, Legolas," Gandalf continued in a calmer tone. "Alas, the decisions one must make in these situations…Alas, even I cannot be in two places at once!" Gandalf leaned into the moon's illuminating shadow, revealing the sadness and exhaustion in his wizened features. "If I had the power, I would undo all the pain suffered by you and your brother. I would take both of you home," he sighed.

Legolas's hardened gaze waned and he stepped back uncertainly.

Aragorn cleared his throat and caught Legolas's attention. The elf tentatively looked at him, fighting valiantly to conceal the aggravation, fear, bewilderment, and disillusion that gripped his mind. "You made a promise to me, Legolas, that you would aid me in all the battles yet to come. That I could always count on you to be at my side." Aragorn took a step forward and continued to steadily hold Legolas's gaze. "That was a mutual promise, mellonin."

Legolas clenched his jaw and took in a deep breath. "I did not need your help. Cièdron did," he shakily replied.

"We did not know that, Legolas," Aragorn responded quietly.

Legolas opened his mouth to respond, but for the first time in his long life, he could not find the words to match his thoughts and feelings. He knew Gandalf and Aragorn were right – that even if they did know of Cièdron's ill fate, caught in the presence of a bewitched Merionè-there was little they could do so long as he was also entrapped within these dangerous creatures' prison.

Aragorn turned and mounted his horse. "I will need your help, later, Thranduillon." With a quick glance at Gandalf, he added softly, "We both will. Don't ever think we would abandon you so easily."

Before the elf had a chance to respond, Aragorn hardened his tone and motioned towards Ereb's mare. "Come Legolas. Your brother needs us now in Dol Guldur. I wish not to stall any longer. You could tell us more of your tale on the way."

With a gulp, Legolas gave a curt nod and mounted his horse. As he gripped the dark mare's mane, he shyly turned towards Gandalf. "Mithrandir, I…"

Gandalf shook his head and once more raised his hand to interrupt Legolas. "Aragorn is right. We must not tarry any longer."

As he ordered his horse into a gallop, a mischievous sparkle lit his eye and he turned to Legolas. "Try not to wander off this time Legolas!" the wizard teased with a wink. A moment later he was off, closely followed by the elf and ranger.

As the sun fully rose above the horizon, her warm arms reached through the thick desert air of the Rhûn and the wretched, twisted branches of Mirkwood, though she could never quite reach through the storms that swallowed Dol Guldur, for even the sun could not prevail against the evil that now inhabited that lair.

**TBC!**

**Almost there! Thank you so much everyone who reviewed! **


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